


As fading stars

by Ragno



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Split, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragno/pseuds/Ragno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s true he gets too attached to animals, and maybe that’s why he never forgets any of them. Stray dogs, stray cats, domestic ones, he remember faces, names, little spots of different color on different places. </p><p>So Ryan knows, he <i>knows</i>, that dog is Bogart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

It’s known that Ryan has a sweet spot for animals, and especially for dogs since he lost his little Hobo. His friends know this, that’s why it’s no surprise when they see Ryan interacting with some stray dog, feeding them, talking to them. Ryan never takes them home, though. He doesn’t want the feeling of losing anyone else. It was hard with Hobo, ever harder with Captain Knots. So Ryan knows it’s better this way. Some of his friends have animals, so that’s enough. Sometimes he even goes to some animal shelter, he stays as a voluntary for the day, helping here and there, kind of like when he was a kid and he wasn’t allowed to have pets at home.

He likes it, the way animals show affection, gratitude. Animals make him feel loved, unconditionally loved, and that’s not something he can say about anyone else. Not anymore, at least.

It’s true he gets too attached to animals, and maybe that’s why he never forgets any of them. Stray dogs, stray cats, domestic ones, he remember faces, names, little spots of different color on different places. So Ryan knows, _he knows_ , that dog is Bogart.

Ryan looks around, his stomach tightening a little because if Bogart is there, that means the owners should be near him. He looks again, furtively, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone who could be there. Damn, if they see him there, they probably could even think he’s somehow stalking them or whatever.

Ryan thinks about leaving the park, leaving his drink unfinished there, go home and do something productive, like not thinking in Bogart or anyone related to Bogart.

But the thing is, looking at the dog again, it doesn’t seem like he’s there with anyone. Bogart moves slow, cautiously, sniffing around, and he’s kind of dirty now that Ryan pays attention. He looks around a third time, this time not minding if someone catches him looking. He’s kind of worried. Why is Bogart there alone?

Ryan frowns, moving the straw on his iced tea, making the ice cubes clink against each other and the glass. He takes his sunglasses off, leaving them at the top of his head. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he forgot Bogart’s face, maybe that’s just another stray dog.

But… He needs to be sure.

—Bogart —He calls, his voice almost too low to be heard. He clears his throat and speaks again—. Bogart!

The dog moves his ears first, and then his head. Ryan calls the name again, and the dog looks at him. His tail is up a wiggling right in the moment he sees Ryan, running towards him as fast as he can. Ryan feels a warming feeling in his chest along with the turn in his guts.

—Hey boy! —He greets, lowering his hand, stroking the dog’s head as Bogart tries to lick him—. You remember me, boy? Yeah? Aww, such a good boy! —Ryan takes him from the floor, up on his lap. Bogart tries to lick his face and Ryan can’t stop smiling—. Easy, easy, boy. How did you get here? —He asks, as if the dog could really answer. What Bogart does instead is sniff the empty plate where Ryan had a cheese bagel before—. You hungry, uh? S’ok, I’ll get you something.

Ryan calls the waiter, asking for some sandwich with just meat on it, no veggies. He pets Bogart and feeds him little bites of the sandwich with his fingers, laughing when the little tongue tickles his fingers, wondering how long has it been since he laughed that way.

He notice Bogart’s paws are sore, and there’s blood in two of them. If there were any doubts left, they disappear in that very moment. Brendon wouldn’t neglect his dogs that way. It’s obvious Bogart is lost.

—You left home, boy? You left your dad? —Ryan asks, petting the dog’s ears—. Everybody leaves him, uh? —He says as a joke, but he ends up hurting himself like a fool. He’s so fucking stupid… Ryan’s swallows the lump in his throat, smiling a little—. You don’t have to do that, ok? He needs you.

Ryan bites his lips, taking out his wallet and leaving a couple of bills on the table. He takes Bogart in his arms, hugging him close.

—Let’s go home, buddy.

 

*

 

Ryan leaves Bogart in the passenger seat, shaking the dirt off his clothes with his hands. Bogart has stained one of his favorite t-shits, but the truth is Ryan doesn’t really mind. He takes his phone out, looking through the contact list. He knows Brendon moved to Encino, but he has no idea where exactly. Even if he knew, it’s not like he could show up there uninvited. He presses call.

—Ryan? —The familiar voice makes him smile.

—Hey, Spence —He greets. It’s been so long… But it’s always good to hear Spencer’s smartass voice—. How’s everything?

Even if he can’t see him, Ryan knows Spencer is hesitating.

—Fine, yeah, everything’s fine, you know? We’re kind of, starting all the wedding thing and… stuff —Spencer answers—. You good?

—Yeah, can’t complain —Ryan shrugs. He kind of wants to ask about the wedding, about Linda. About all those times they talked about being the best man at each other’s wedding. About if that’s still true. But he doesn’t know if he should.

—Ryan, why are you calling? —Spencer asks, and yeah. That’s it. The remainder that tells him nothing’s like it was. Ryan kind of misses the times when he could call his best friend without needing a reason. He wants to tell him that, he wants to tell him “what? Can’t I call you just because I want? Do I have to need a reason?”, but the truth is he has a reason, so getting mad is kind of pointless.

—I… —He starts, but he doesn’t really know what to say. Ryan looks at the dog by his side and scratches his head—. Bogart’s here with me.

There’s silence at the other end of the line for a couple of seconds.

—Ryan. Have you kidnapped Brendon’s dog? —Spencer speaks slowly.

—What?? —Ryan would laugh, because the question is stupid and this whole situation is hilarious. He would laugh, he really would. If he wasn’t feeling so insulted right now—. You really think I would do that? What the fuck, Spencer! Do you know me at all? —He asks, and suddenly he doesn’t want Spencer to answer that question.

—Okay, okay, sorry —Spencer apologizes—. But, how the fuck…? Why is Bogart with you? Did you find him somewhere? He’s been missing for a few days. Brendon’s losing his mind… —He says, and Ryan notes how Spencer’s voice shuts after saying Brendon’s name, as remembering that’s some kind of taboo word.

—He was around Echo, dude. I was at that bakery I use to go, you know? And he was right there… —Ryan explains.

—You’re fucking with me. That’s impossible, dude. They lost him in Huntington Park, how the fuck did he get to Echo? —Spencer says and Ryan looks at Bogart. Now he understands the bruises in his paws. The little adventurer.

—I don’t know… Maybe he went to the place that looked familiar —Ryan says, stroking Bogart behind his ears—. The thing is, are you at home? I could bring him to you now, I’ve got nothing to do, really… And maybe we could talk a little —Ryan adds, unsure if he’s stepping out of his line.

—No, Ryan —Spencer says, and Ryan holds his breath.

—No? —He echoes, waiting for an answer.

—No, dude, you’re not bringing him to me. It’s not my dog. Also, I’m not at home right now —Spencer says and Ryan knows where this is heading—. So, go to his house, bring him his dog. He’s not going to bite you or anything —Ryan’s not so sure, but he doesn’t say anything—. And about coming home to talk, I’ll get there tomorrow noon. Come by, have a coffee with me, let’s talk.

—Great —Ryan nods, his lips curving up a bit.

—Linda wants to meet you. And call my mom. She’s worried about you —Spencer adds, and before he says goodbye, Ryan stops him.

—Wait, Spence, wait —he calls, biting the tip of his fingers, stroking the hair that falls down his forehead. He’s so going to regret this—. I need his address.

 

*

 

It’s getting dark when he arrives to Encino, looking once and again to the address on his phone, checking the name of the street, the number of the house. He’s there. He can do it. He hopes he can.

He takes Bogart in his arms, parking near the said house and walking to the high fence, buzzing at the entry phone. Bogart waves his tail and starts to get nervous in Ryan’s arms. It’s here. It is.

_Yeah?_

The voice comes out distorted, but it still makes Ryan tense.

—Hey, it’s Ryan… Ross —He adds, because he doesn’t know if Brendon remembers his voice, or how many Ryans he knows, or… just in case, as a warning. Just in case he doesn’t want to open the doors—. I think I’ve got something yours.

For a few seconds, Ryan truly thinks Brendon’s going to tell him to fuck off, and then he would have to go to Spencer’s house with Bogart and explain how Brendon still hates him and will hate him forever apparently.

There’s a buzzing noise and the doors are open. The entry phone shuts. Ryan breathes as deep as he can.

He holds Bogart tighter as he walks down the entrance, and even tighter when he sees Brendon waiting at the front door. Ryan convinces himself that he does it to prevent Bogart to run to him and hurt his paws even more.

— _Oh my God_ —Brendon opens his eyes wide and covers his mouth with his hands.

Ryan doesn’t want to, but it’s him who ends up running to give Brendon his dog.

—My baby, where have you been? —Brendon cries the moment he puts his hand on the dog, hugging him, kissing him. Bogart moves his tail frenetically, trying to lick every inch of skin possible—. I was so worried, buddy. I thought I lost you! Are you happy to see me? Are you? Yes, you are. You are so happy! I am so happy too!

Ryan feels a little out of place, like an intruder in that perfect reunion picture. Brendon keeps talking to Bogart, kissing him and squeezing him, and Ryan can’t help to smile a little. He hopes that’s ok.

He feels a wet nose nuzzling his jeans, and when he looks down he sees another doggy there, probably greeting his missing friend. Ryan crouches, letting the dog sniff his hand before petting its head.

—Hey, doggy. You here to see your friend? You missed him? —Ryan scratches behind its ears and the dog seems to like it.

—Did you found him? —Brendon asks, and Ryan looks up to him before standing up.

—Yeah, I didn’t… He was just there, you know? I didn’t do anything, he found me, really —Ryan explains, stroking the hair of his neck nervously. This is weird. This is so weird—. He was in Echo. He walked a lot, and his paws are injured, so…

—Honey, what is it? —A piercing voice stops Ryan, and then there she is, standing right next to Brendon—. Oh my God, Brendon, it’s Boggart! —She says shocked, and then— Ryan? —She frowns, looking at Brendon, and Ryan thinks “here we go”, but somehow she manages to pull out a smile, looking back at him—. So long since the last time we met.

—Yeah… it’s… nice to see you —He lies. She knows that he’s lying, but, well… it’s the best he can do. It’s polite, so it will have to work.

—Ryan found Bogart —Brendon says, and Sarah’s eyebrows rise even higher on his forehead—. Can you believe it? He went to Echo Park, all by himself, the little traveler—. Brendon laughs, kissing Bogart’s head.

—It’s nothing, really. I guess I was just lucky —Ryan shrugs.

—So lucky —Sarah repeats, looking Ryan in the eyes while holding Brendon by his waits, kissing his cheek. And Ryan though he couldn’t feel more out of place…

—You probably want to clean his paws, maybe putting on some bandages till you take him to the vet —Ryan notes, trying to take the attention back to the dog. That’s why he’s there anyway.

—Sure! Honey, can you do that? —Brendon says, giving the dog to Sarah—. Can you take him inside? I’m sure Dallon can help.

—Of course —Sarah nods, heading back to the house—. It was nice to see you, Ryan.

Ryan just nods, raising a hand awkwardly, and then crossing his arms around his chest immediately. Now that there’s just the two of them, Ryan feels kind of naked.

There’s a moment of silence, a moment Ryan wonders if Brendon is waiting politely for Ryan to say goodbye. He almost does it, but Brendon speaks.

—Do you want to come in? —Brendon asks, and it’s weird, his voice is weird, but Ryan knows he means it, strange as it may seems—. There are some friends, we’re just, you know, talking and stuff.

—It’s okay —Ryan rises his hands, shaking his head—. It would be… weird. And I really should go. I have this thing…

—Yeah, sure —Brendon nods, knowing Ryan’s lying again.

Politeness, that’s it. That’s what there is between them.

—So —Ryan takes a breath—… I’ll see you around —he says, taking a step back, looking at the fence, wondering how many years would pass until he crosses it again.

—Hey, Ryan —Brendon calls, and Ryan looks at him. He doesn’t have time to react before Brendon’s arms close around him, holding him tight. They’re hugging—. Thank you —Brendon whispers, and Ryan allows himself to lean in a little bit, catching his smell, warming up in his arms.

—It’s okay. It’s okay.

Brendon’s scent is still with him as he walks to his car.

It’s in his clothes when he opens the door of his house.

Ryan let himself fall on the mattress, the lights still out, the silence filling the place. He looks around, fighting the thoughts of getting a new pet. He knows he can’t, he shouldn’t, but he still misses having someone who’s happy to see him when he gets home. Someone to love him a little. Kind of like Bogart. Kind of like Brendon.

He knows it’s not a good thing, to have seen him again. He knows his head is not going to stop now, making hypothesis and getting to conclusions and shit like that. His mind is going to work like an idiot and he’s not going to sleep, and he’s going to end at some party again, taking too much shit to try to stop his thoughts.

So, yeah, it’s bad. But he knows it was the right thing to do, bring back Bogart to Brendon. He would have wanted someone to do the same thing to him with Captain Knots. Sometimes he wonders if someone found his cat, someone who didn’t know him so they couldn’t return him. Ryan likes to think so, he likes to think someone found his cat, and they took him back home, and now he lives with a family who loves him even more than Ryan does. It’s not a difficult thing. Ryan knows his love is kind of shitty, anyone could do it better.

He takes his shoes off, tucking himself between the covers and closing his eyes. He doesn’t feel like eating anything, and he’s kind of tired. He just wants to sleep.

If he does it in his clothes, it has nothing to do with them still smelling like Brendon.

 

*

 

—You found what again? —Z asks, raising an eyebrow.

She said something about making a photo shoot for the new single and somehow that ended up in Vincent’s house, talking about the new band Dan is publishing. They’re good, or so Dan says. Ryan hasn’t heard them. He has no intention to do it either.

—I found Bogart. Brendon’s dog —Ryan explains—. It’s kind of fucked up if you think about it.

—Fucked up? —Z laughs, taking a drag of his cigarette, leaning her head back in the couch—. Honey, that’s like… a sign!

—A sign? —Ryan snorts—. A sign from where? From heaven? —He jokes.

—From heaven, form hell, who cares? The thing is you found the fucking dog, baby. In Los Angeles. You, of all people. _His_ dog!

—Leave the kid alone —Dan says, sitting next to Ryan, putting an arm around his shoulder, leaning their heads together—. Don’t you think it’s time to move on? Huh? Turn the page? Write a new one?? And I’m talking literally there, you fucker. Write.

Ryan rolls his eyes. He’s heard that about a hundred times, and he always says the same, but they won’t listen. He’s writing, he is. Just not the things they want to hear, or anybody, really. So why bother? His lyricist time is in the past. His anything time.

—And you went to his house to return the dog? —Z asks as she drinks from her cocktail glass, leaving a red imprint of his lips.

—Yes —Ryan answers, and adds—, and before you ask anything else, I stayed at the door. We talked a little, like two civilized people, and I left. Just that. I even met his girlfriend. Or, well, wife now.

—Oh, now I get it —Z nods, smoking and blowing the smoke right towards Ryan.

—You’re so funny —Ryan deadpans, taking his beer from the table, shaking his head before drinking.

—I don’t mean to be funny, darling —She smirks, crushing the butt of the cigarette in the ashtray—. But if I am, the credit it’s all yours.

—But what happened? What did he say when he saw you? —Dan asks, looking for a blunt in his cigarette case. He offers one to Ryan. Ryan takes it.

—I told you, no big deal. He was more surprised of seeing his dog alive, to be honest —Ryan explains, letting Dan light his blunt, taking a drag later—. His wife, though, she probably thinks I made up the whole thing. She said I was “so lucky” —He makes the quotation marks with his fingers.

—Oh, the drama —Z overacts, laughing then—. Baby, I wish I were there. I bet it was an outstanding show. Anyway —She stands up, grabbing her purse—. Are we going? I still have that photo shoot to do.

—Ah, shit —Ryan looks at the clock, standing up as well—. I kind of told Spencer I would visit him today.

—Spencer? Like in Spencer Smith? —Dan asks, almost shocked—. First Brendon, now Spencer. Did you bought a time machine and you didn’t tell us?

—Yeah, with all my spare money —He jokes, kissing Dan on the lips, then Z—. I should really get going.

—Come with me, RyRo. I’ll give you a ride, you’ll give me details —Z says, taking the car keys of his purse.

Ryan’s not sure about what he’s going to do at Spencer’s, but he really wants to go, to meet again… maybe just talk. Now that he’s not in the band anymore, now that he lives a normal life, with his girl and his Legos, maybe now they can connect again. Like in the good old times.

When he rings the bell, he’s somehow nervous. He hasn’t seen Spencer in years. Of course he has seen him in television, or Internet or whatever, but not in real life, not right there in the flesh. There were things in the past, bad things, in both ends, but Ryan has forgotten about them, and he really hopes Spencer has too. There’s no need to air dirty laundry. He would like to just, pick where they left off.

—You came! —Spencer voice startles him. Ryan looks at his face. Spencer.

—I did —He smiles, rubbing his hands together—. Is that okay?

Spencer just hugs him. He hugs him tight, laughing and telling him he’s still a “skinny motherfucker”. Ryan hugs back after a little. He could get used to this. All of this hugging thing.

—You look like your dad —Ryan says when they separate.

—Well, you don’t, thanks God —Spencer says back, and Ryan wants to punch him in the face and also kiss him. That’s it. That’s Spencer—. Come on in, we’ve got a lot to catch up.

It’s weird, the way Spencer treats him like everything’s okay, like nothing horrible happened between the two of them, like Ryan didn’t almost kill their friendship. Of course, that’s what Ryan wanted, but it’s still… weird. Linda is kind with him, she talks a little to him, treats him like she didn’t know the things Ryan did. She has to know, for sure. Ryan thinks he could like her, even if he misses Haley for couple of minutes when he sees Spencer so affectionate with her. It’s okay, though. This is Spencer’s new life, a life he doesn’t have to share with Ryan and still he’s doing it anyway. So Ryan’s not going to say anything, for now at least.

They talk about the wedding and they have coffee. No beers, of course. There’s not alcohol in Spencer’s house and Ryan’s okay with it. He’s glad his friend could get away from the hell of pills and booze he was when they left each other. He’s proud.

Ryan was not expecting Spencer to remember their agreement of being the best man in each others wedding, less for Spencer to actually offer him. Ryan would love to, really, but that would mean to be next to Brendon the whole ceremony, and he knows for sure he’s not strong enough to do that. Being in the same place? Maybe. Being next to each other? No way.

—And I’m not even sure I’m going to marry like, _ever_ , so you wouldn’t keep your part of the deal, and that would be unfair.

—This is not set in stone yet, Ross. We’ll see…

Linda insists for Ryan to stay for dinner, and he didn’t know how much he missed Spencer’s cook until he takes the fork to his mouth and actually moans. They all three laugh about it and Spencer says something about not being even close to the delicious food of his mother. Ryan makes a mental note to call Ginger. He must.

It gets late, and Ryan never though the day would pass in such enjoyable mood. Ryan promises to visit again, and this time he means it. When he takes his phone to call a cab, Spencer slaps his hand and takes his car keys, kissing Linda and telling her he’ll be home as soon as possible.

—So, how did it go? —Spencer asks the moment the car starts to move. He doesn’t say anything else, but Ryan knows what he’s talking about.

—It was good, you know? Awkward. Weird. But it could have been worst —Ryan answer, trying to figure out if he still feels confortable talking about anything and everything with Spencer.

—I knew it wouldn’t. He’s been talking a lot about you lately —Spencer says, looking at the road—. I think he misses you —he says, and Ryan wants to shake his head and call him crazy, but Spencer keeps talking—. And then you called and told me about the dog, and I knew it had to mean something.

—Z says it’s a sign —Ryan jokes, shaking his head.

—It could be —Spencer shrugs—. You know… Things are not like, awesome in his life right now —he says, soft, as if it were a secret. Maybe it is—. He wants to hang out all the time, more than when we were in the band, more that when we started the band. He always talks about those times, remembers stories, sings songs we sang then…

—It doesn’t mean anything —Ryan cuts him—. In fact, if he’s been fucked up lately, me is the last of things he needs in his life. I’m a mess, Spence.

—There’s always help, you know? There’s help for him, there’s help for you… there was help for me —Spencer say and, oh, Ryan has heard that before.

—If you’re talking about drugs…

—I’m talking about feelings, dammit! —He shouts, startling Ryan—. You two are the most stupid hardheaded assholes I’ve ever met, Jesus!

—Whoa, thanks for the compliment. I love you too, dude.

—No, fuck your sarcasm, Ross! I’m being serious here! You two useless pricks fucked up my band, fucked up everything and you both still act like the world owns you something, like everything’s going to fix itself because it’s you, and you deserve it. Well, I’ve got news for you: is it important? Is it so fucking important it haunts your dreams? Is it so fucking goddammit important it makes you feel sick in the stomach when you think about it? Then get the fuck up and fix it. Fucking fix it. Yourself.

Spencer huffs, mumbling something unintelligible, slowing the speed when he sees he’s way up the limit. Ryan doesn’t know what to say. He kind of expected some talk about them, about everything, but this? He didn’t expect any of this.

—I… I can’t change the past, Spencer —It’s the only thing he can say—. I can’t bring the old times back. I can’t bring the band back.

Spencer rolls his eyes so hard he almost rolls his entire head.

—I don’t want the fucking old times back, Ryan. If I wanted the old times back I would call Brent Wilson and told you to join Pet Salamander —Ryan laughs at that—. And I don’t want the band back. I left the fucking band. That’s not my home anymore. The band… that’s not a home —he says like it doesn’t matter, but Ryan can feel the bitter in his words—. I know there are things that can’t be changed. Things, Ryan. But you two, you’re not things. What you two had, dude…

—Fuck, Spencer, really? —Ryan covers his face with his hands, rubbing his temples. He’s not ready to talk about this.

—What? You want me to lie? Ok, let’s lie, Ryan. Let’s talk about your absolutely normal, regular and ordinary friendship.

—You’re hilarious —Ryan hisses.

—No, I’ll tell you what’s hilarious. I’m getting married to a woman I absolutely love and adore, and I don’t know if some day I will have with her what you have with Brendon. _That_ ’s fucking hilarious.

—What we had —Ryan corrects him—. In the past.

—Of course, Ryan. Keep telling that to yourself.

They stay in silence for a moment. Ryan looks at the road, the yellow lines passing by one after another. He can feel the tension building up even more instead of dissolving. He thinks about what Spencer has just tell him. He thinks about everything he never wants to think about. He thinks about him.

Fucking Spencer.

—You hated it —Ryan talks after a minute—. What we had back then. You hated it.

—I was a kid, okay? You were my best friend and Brendon… —He sighs—. You know… So, of course. I hated it. I thought I was gonna lose you two and I didn’t want to. But I’m an adult now, and I see that, in some way, I lost you two anyway.

—He’s married —Ryan says, because his trail of thoughts is way up Spencer’s speech.

—I’m not telling you to fuck him —Spencer says sharp. Ryan feels his skin tingling—. I’m just telling you to keep in contact. Just…

—I’ll try —he says, taking a breath, filling his lungs. He wants to be telling the truth this time—. I’ll try…

 

*

 

It always happens. You see things in a certain way some day and the morning after everything seems stupid, or impossibly hard, or somehow unworkable. It’s a familiar feeling for Ryan, thinking he’s invincible one night and feeling absolutely weak the next morning. Maybe it’s the company, having someone to tell you that you actually can, to tell you there’s a way, to tell you you’re strong enough.

Ryan opens his eyes, getting up, sitting at the edge of his bed, rubbing his face with his hand. He’s not fucking strong. He’s a piece of shit.

The sun coming through the holes in the blinds is pissing him off. He hates the fucking sun. He hates the fucking Sun.

His stomach rumbles, probably because the spoiled fucker thinks it’s going to get more good food like last night. Ryan tries to remember if there’s some cereal left as he put on his jeans, walking barefoot and shirtless to the kitchen. He let’s himself fall on the chair, the almost empty cereal box in his hand, a beer in the other. There’s no milk on the fridge. There never is, fucking Shan Morris always using it to play some stupid joke. So beer it is, beer and cereal, the breakfast of the champions.

He looks in his pocket for his phone, finding half of the blunt Dan gave him yesterday. He smokes it as he checks the latest news, his messages, his social networks. In his mail there are the latest pictures of Phases, probably from the photo shoot Z did yesterday. She looks good. Ryan hopes this band last a little longer than the last one, or the other ones. Z treats her bands as well as her lovers. She loves them to hell and back until she doesn’t love them anymore. And that’s it, another day, another band, another lover. Ryan thinks it must be exhausting. He doesn’t even know how to handle two ex-bands and three ex-lovers, imagine a gazillion of them.

Sometimes Ryan wishes things would be as easy as Z makes them look. “Enjoy life, honey. We’re all gonna die sooner or later” she would say, with her arm around his waist and her lips on someone else’s skin. Ryan tried to be like her, he wanted to be like her, while he was with her, but he failed miserably. He’s not made to live like that. He’s a boring, calm, extremely introvert person who were never ready to let people to know his thoughts, his mind, his secrets, why did he thought it would be different with his skin? Even when the drugs helped someway, it was never real, it was never what Ryan needed. It was fun, of course. But just that, just fun.

_Rachel’s coming home today. Wanna join?_

Dan message flashes on the screen. Ryan hits the joint, letting the smoke fill him before letting it out trough his hose and lips. He wants. In fact, he wants to go earlier, when Rachel’s not there yet, he wants to wrap himself in Dan and let him make him believe everything is going to be okay for a couple of hours. He wants Rachel to come home and see them tangled together, he wants her to smile sweet and caring, stroking his hair and kissing his lips, telling him it’s okay. He wants them both to care about him, even if its just pity, he wants it. He wants to live for a moment in the fantasy where he’s loved.

But the thing is, he knows Dan misses Rachel, they haven’t see each other in such a long time, and it would be selfish to just ignore that and join anyway. They probably need a little bit of intimacy, even if Dan worries about him and wants him to be okay with this “thing” they have. Dan probably thinks Ryan needs more attention now that the past is coming back in a totally unexpected way. Dan’s not wrong. But Ryan thinks he can handle this by himself, at least for now. He’s an adult, and is not like he’s going to have any more triggers any time soon.

The phone buzzes in his hand again.

_Hey. Just wanted you to know Bogs’ gonna be fine_

_Took him to the vet as you said_

_Little fucker walked a lot_

_Thanks again._

_Bden._

Ryan doesn’t remember the last time he saw that nickname in that context.

And he thought it wouldn’t be any more triggers… little naïve fucker, hadn’t he learn anything? His whole life is a fucking trigger. Ryan’s really starting to think there’s a god up there, a fucking son of a bitch who wants to see him fucked and messed up. He’s doing a great job, by the way.

Ryan flicks between Dan’s and Brendon’s messages, something he hasn’t done since 2009. Maybe Dan’s right and he bought a time machine without noticing. He knows what he should do. He should delete Brendon’s message and reply Dan asking for the time. That would be the healthier option, if any option were healthy at all.

But the thing is, Ryan doesn’t know a fucking thing about health, so he saves Brendon’s number under the name ‘Bden’ and he press call the moment the number appears on his phone screen. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Or why. But, fuck it.

—Hey —Brendon voice greets him at the other end of the line. And, oh, fuck, Ryan forgot that you actually have to talk when you call someone.

—Um, hi —Ryan says, wanting to hit himself on the face with his phone. Now what, fucker? Luckily, Brendon has this talking thing covered.

—You wouldn’t believe what this asshole’s doing right now —Brendon says, laughing—. He can’t walk because the vet put some ointment on his paws and their bandaged now. So he’s trying to move by _dragging_ all over the floor. Dude, it’s so funny. Hold on, I’ll send you a pic.

Ryan doesn’t know what to say, so he just waits. It takes a moment for the picture to download. It’s just Bogart, sprawling out on the floor, looking weird at the camera. Ryan laughs when he put the phone on his ear again.

—Sick, dude —Ryan says, and Brendon laughs more.

—This dog is awesome. The vet said dogs can walk miles to come back home, but this fucker didn’t come back home. He totally knew that would be dangerous, so he went to fucking Echo. He probably smelled you or something. He knew you would be there.

—That would explain a lot. I’ve never been “so lucky” in my life —Ryan jokes and, when Brendon laughs, he’s not sure if it’s because of him or what.

—It’s really fucked up, uh? That you found him —Brendon voice changes, and Ryan tenses. He’s still not sure of how to act around Brendon—. When you said you had something mine I thought you were going to return that jacket I gave you when we finished touring Circus —Brendon says, and suddenly Ryan feels attacked. He doesn’t know why, he just…

—Fuck off, you gave that to me. It’s mine, okay? I’m not returning it —He snaps, frowning and holding his phone harder. There’s no way he’s giving that back.

—Whoa, easy. I’m not saying I want it back, Jesus. I gave it to you for a reason —Brendon says, sighing and speaking again—. I didn’t even though you’d still have it… —He says, lowering his voice—. Do you?

Ryan hesitates for a moment. It’s not like he could lie about it, it wouldn’t make sense, but it’s kind of embarrassing admitting it. So, when he speaks, it’s soft and almost a whisper.

—Yeah, I do… —he says, and he expects Brendon not to need any further explanation.

—Oh —It’s the only thing Brendon says before go completely silent.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes, just breathing together, not knowing what else to say. It’s weird, but it’s not uncomfortable. And it’s weird that it’s not uncomfortable. A lot of things are weird these days.

—So, I was wondering… —Brendon starts to say—. Since you kind of, you know, saved Bogart. If you want to come by some day, to check on him, say hi…

Brendon keeps talking but Ryan’s not listening.

Everything is kind of fogged in his head as he analyzes the last words he’s heard. Coming by, to Brendon’s. Like the old times. Like there’s nothing wrong with them. Like… like they’re friends again.

The blunt burns his fingers, making him twitch, dropping it and then looking at it. Is he really sure there were only weed in there? He kind of feels like when they were at the cabin high on acid, seeing shit and making contest with the voices inside their heads and outside their heads. Now the voices inside his head tell him to question all kinds of reality. The voices outside his head just call him. Ryan. Ryan.

—Ryan! You there? —Brendon calls again and Ryan blinks. Slow at first, then he takes some air because he feels his lungs like burning.

—Yeah… I’m here. Sorry.

—Was that uncalled for? I just thought it could be… you know —Brendon explains, and Ryan almost can see him shrugging.

—I don’t know what to say, honestly —Ryan says, trying not to sound rude or anything. He wants to meet Brendon. He wants everything that Brendon could give him, but he’s not sure if he’s ready to go to Brendon’s house—. We could… we could meet somewhere public, you know? Have a drink or…

—God, no. Not public —Brendon laughs—. I get enough shit already.

Ryan wants to ask “enough shit? What shit? From who?”, but he understand, somehow. Ryan’s not a public face anymore, not like before at least, but Brendon still has to deal with a lot of things Ryan has forgotten about.

—Well… You always could come to my place —Ryan suggests, and. Fuck. Did he sound like flirting? Fuck! He sounded like flirting. He didn’t want that!

But suddenly Brendon laughs, deeper and softer, and Ryan’s not sure what he should think about that. His cock is definitely thinking something but, Ryan? Nope, he doesn’t know what to think.

—I suppose I could, yeah… —Brendon says, and Ryan licks his lips unconsciously—. Gotta go. Catch you up later, okay?

—Sure —Ryan says, and just like that the line ends.

He’s so fucked.

 

*

 

Dan is sitting with his long legs crossed, his arms too. He’s looking at Ryan with an absolutely serious face, as if he were modeling for some of those indie magazines he loves so much. It’s kind of the look a worried father would have if he thought his son could be in danger. Kind of. Ryan wouldn’t know anyway.

Rachel’s gone again, she was just passing by on his way to San Francisco, so they’re alone in Dan’s house. Ryan supposes this is kind of an intervention, only with one person, but Dan doesn’t need anyone else to scold him good. Ryan’s trying so hard not to laugh right now it’s not even funny. Dan’s already mad at him because Ryan “deserted him to talk to Urie”. Ryan has already told him he couldn’t be deserted when he had Rachel, but Dan’s not listening right now. He’s mad. And Ryan’s laughing.

—Do you think this is funny? —Dan asks, and Ryan almost says “I think it’s hilarious”, but that would remind him of Brendon, and there’s no need to bring up Brendon even more now.

—I don’t see why it’s so bad —Ryan says, and it seems it’s not the right answer.

—Well, that’s the problem, Ryan. You don’t see why it’s so bad, but it is. You’re telling me you’ve been talking again with the dude that fucked you up in the head so bad you were incapable to do anything for years, but you don’t see why it’s so bad.

—It’s not like that. I fucked him up too, okay? If there’s someone to blame here it’s the two of us —Ryan explains. He doesn’t want to argue with Dan. Not with him—. And we’re different now, we grew up.

—Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you —Dan huffs, shaking his head—. I don’t know about him, and… sure, he seems like a nice guy. But I know you, Ryan. You didn’t grow up a little bit, not if we’re talking about him. You lo-

—Don’t —Ryan stops him—. Okay. But don’t say that.

One thing is to feel it, and another one is to hear it. Ryan knows it’s like lying to himself, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to hear it. Dan just sighs, looking at Ryan, his eyes getting a bit softer. Ryan smiles and Dan smiles back.

—Come here, come on —Dan says, making a space in his arm chair, hugging Ryan when he sits beside him, almost on top of him, kissing his temple—. I just want to be sure you’re going to be fine.

—Don’t worry about that, really —Ryan hums, shifting his body so he can find a confortable position between the chair and Dan’s body.

—Of course I worry —Dan kisses him behind his ear—. You were sad for so long, Ry. And you’re just being yourself again —He mutters against Ryan’s neck, nuzzling, holding him tighter—. I don’t want you sad again.

—Fuck off —Ryan laughs, his body responding immediately when Dan’s hands sneak under his t-shirt—. You just want me for my cock —He jokes, angling his head so Dan can kiss his neck.

—That’s absolutely not true —Dan says, one of his hands grabbing him between his legs, laughing when Ryan grunts—. I don’t _just_ want you for your cock.

Ryan laughs and he lets Dan do what he knows best. It’s always good with Dan, always safe. He’s always confortable enough to let himself feel, to let himself love. He knows he wouldn’t hurt Dan even if he tried, and Dan would never hurt him, because he doesn’t love him enough to do that. So everything’s good between them, it’s almost perfect. And of course, the sex is mind-blowing. He never knew why everybody wanted a piece of Dan until he had one himself. He can consider himself lucky (damn Sarah Urie for jinx that word for him forever), because Dan it’s not a one night stand aficionado. He’s got Rachel, and when Rachel’s not here, there’s someone else. Ryland, Z just a couple of times, but mostly Ryan.

—Are we gonna keep doing this? When you come back to you boyfriend? —Dan whispers at his ear, the heat of his body making Ryan’s insides burn.

—He’s not… I’m not coming back… —Ryan manages to speak.

—We’ll see, baby. We’ll see…

It’s easier to say things he doesn’t mean in that state of mind, when everything’s blurry and the only thing that matters is the friction of skin against skin. It’s easier to feel secure when someone’s holding you tight, when you wrapped up in a mess of limbs and sheets. That’s why you never should make statements that way, never say I will, never say I won’t. Ryan knows this, Dan does too.

When they’re done, Ryan stays there, lie down on the bed, a lot of thing crawling out and back in his head while Dan goes to take a shower. He wonders why couldn’t this happen to him with Dan, the thing with Brendon. It would have been so much easier… Maybe that’s why it didn’t happen with Dan and it did with Brendon. Because all his life Ryan hasn’t done anything that wasn’t extremely complicated. He doesn’t do easy.

—There’s this party the night after tomorrow —Dan says casually, getting out of the bathroom still dripping, drying his hair with a towel. He’s only wearing his jeans and they’re open—. Z will be there, Vincent too. Probably Ryland and Gabe too, but they haven’t confirmed anything yet. Are you in?

—Sure —Ryan says, taking his underwear and raising his hips to put them on—. Are you coming?

—Maybe —Dan answers, putting a cigarette on his lips and taking a white shirt from his closet, leaving it unbuttoned when he puts it on—. I’ve got to work the next morning, so… But if you’re going to be there.

—I’m always there, you know that.

—Yeah. I also know you’re not friends with Brendon Urie, but —Dan shuts up when Ryan throws a pillow at him.

—Fuck off.

 

*

 

_You mind if I come by?_

_In like a couple of hours?_

Ryan looks at the text on his phone, thinking about what would be the right thing to do. Sure, Brendon said he would catch him up, but Ryan expected him to wait more to write him back. Maybe a couple of weeks, maybe a month, maybe forever. Not just four days. Who the fuck waits four days? Even the number sounds awful.

_Sure_ , he types, because who is he trying to fool? He will welcome Brendon to his home anytime at any hour of the day.

He looks around, trying to decide if he wants to clean up a little or if he wants to stay things as they are. This is his house, this is his mess, and it’s not like Brendon hadn’t see it before. The toured together, they lived together, they both know how their dirty socks smell like.

Ryan opts for a shower, and then maybe go to the grocery store in the corner, buy some pastries or some shit. He checks if there’s coffee on the coffee pot, tea in the pantry. He actually buys some lemon squares, because he feels like it. They’re fresh made and delicious, and they taste fucking good when Ryan’s so stoned he can even see straight.

The bells rings when Ryan still have his hair wet and, okay, he might be a little slow but no way it had passed a couple of hours since he got the text. Ryan goes for the door, and he thinks about saying something like ‘eager to see me?’, but then he remembers who’s behind that door and suddenly he doesn’t feel like joking anymore.

The moment the door opens, a little ball of fur jumps on his lap, making Ryan grab him if he doesn’t want him to fall, trying to lick his face and waving his tail.

—Wassup, boy? You good? You wanted to see me? Yeah? —Ryan says, taking a step back to let Brendon in before closing the door—. We don’t want you to run away again, uh? —He smiles, leaving Bogart on the floor—. Hey —he waves at Brendon, who just smiles—. I didn’t though you would bring him.

—That was the point, wasn’t it? To let you see I’m treating him good —Brendon says.

“That’s the excuse”, Ryan thinks, but he doesn’t say anything. Not today, he wants to give his sarcasm a rest.

—Sit… wherever —Ryan waves his hand, heading towards the kitchen—. Want anything? Coffee, tea…

—You got a beer? —Brendon asks, and Ryan doesn’t know how it didn’t occur to him that this was Brendon after all, not Spencer. He wouldn’t want coffee.

—Sure —He says, taking a couple of beers out of the fridge, uncapping them and giving one to Brendon, sitting at the other end of the sofa. It’s not his fault there’s just one, and he’s not going to sit on the chairs anyway.

And he doesn’t have to offer any justification for where he decides to sit, dammit.

—You changed some things since the last time I came here —Brendon notice, taking a sip at his beer.

—Yeah, we had to move things in and out when Dan brought the things for the studio. It’s cool anyway, I didn’t need that room for anything else.

—You have a studio here? —Brendon asks, Ryan nods—. Can I see it?

Ryan shrugs, but he stands up from the couch, moving his head to tell Brendon to follow him. He feels confortable this way, talking about professional things. It makes things less weird, like they’re there together for work and not because they _want_ to be together. Or because Ryan wants them to be together. He’s still not sure about what Brendon really wants.

—There it is. It’s fucking tiny, but it’s not like I need anything bigger —Ryan says, leaning in the frame of the door.

—It’s good man, I like it —Brendon says, auto inviting him to come inside, looking at the mixing table, inspecting his guitars—. It’s a lot like you.

Ryan doesn’t know what that means, but he decides to take it as a compliment.

—Are you working on something right now? —Brendon asks, touching the keyboard of his PC, but not pressing any key.

—Kinda… —Ryan says. It’s not anything, it’s just… his stuff.

—Can I hear it? —Brendon asks, and Ryan forgot about how it was to having someone around who doesn’t have a filter brain to mouth. Brendon’s not going to think if something is appropriate or not. If he wants it, he’s going to take it, and if he can’t take it, he’s going to ask anyway.

—Nahh —Ryan smiles, shaking his head, and Brendon pouts a little. It’s almost funny.

Brendon keeps looking around, like this was an open house and he a future buyer. Ryan’s not sure if he likes that, but there something familiar in the way Brendon moves around that makes him feel relaxed about it.

—Oohh, you still got this? —Brendon asks when he finds the old notebook Ryan used to write their first lyrics. He kept it and just added pages when he needed it. There are things from fever there, form the cabin, from pretty odd, from take a vacation. Everything’s there.

—I still use it —Ryan says, and Brendon looks at him with puppy eyes.

—Can I? Please?? —He asks, and before Ryan can turn him down, he adds—. I kinda miss your lyrics.

He says it just like that, like it’s something so obvious Ryan’s stomach shouldn’t clench when he hears it. But it does, and now Ryan doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.

—Just… Don’t sing anything, okay?

Brendon nods enthusiastically and he keeps nodding as he starts to turn the pages.

Ryan goes back to the living room, leaving Brendon alone in the studio. He doesn’t want to see him looking at his thoughts, it feels like he’s intruding somehow. Which is fucking funny, because those are Ryan’s thoughts and is Brendon who’s fucking intruding, but… Anyway, Ryan starts to play with Bogart and tries to forget about it.

It’s not even ten minutes later when Brendon reappears, holding his now warm beer in his hand, looking at Ryan as he plays catch with Bogart. Brendon just stays there, at the entry of the living room, watching them with an estrange smile on his face.

—What? —Ryan asks. He doesn’t like feeling observed.

—Nothing —Brendon shakes his head, coming in and sitting in the couch again. This time closer—. It’s really good, you know? The new stuff.

—You fucking hacked my computer?? —Ryan actually shouts, so loud Bogart whines a little.

—What?? No! Dude, the lyrics. In your notebook. The new ones —Brendon says, and Ryan relaxes. Oh. _That_.

—Oh, that’s not the new stuff —Ryan says, trying to pet Bogart’s head as an apology for the shouting before—. That’s just… stuff. But I’m not using any of that —He says without looking at Brendon, still petting Bogart.

—Why not?

—Nobody wants to hear that —Ryan answers.

—I do.

Ryan looks at him, trying to figure out what should he do, if laughing or feeling offended. He choses the former, snorting and shaking his head.

—You, of all people, are the one who doesn’t want to hear that. Trust me.

Brendon looks like he’s going to talk again, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket and he check out the time, mumbling a little “fuck”.

—I gotta go, it’s fucking late —He says, taking Bogart in his arms, standing up—. Fuck, I hope the cab hasn’t leave. I told him to wait for me. I didn’t expect to stay that much.

—You came in a cab? —Ryan asks, surprised.

—Fuck yeah. I’m not coming here with my car. God fucking knows who could be watching —Brendon wrinkles his face.

—You talk like there were spies everywhere —Ryan laughs.

—Who knows, dude, really. You saw what happened in Seattle. They’re still talking about it.

Ryan hums, walking Brendon to the door, petting Bogart’s head to say goodbye.

—You mind if I come in a couple of days? Earlier this time. We could have a brunch or something.

—I… have this party tomorrow night —Ryan apologizes, but the moment Brendon’s saying ‘ok, s’ok’, Ryan has already change his mind—. But you could come anyway. I don’t plan on staying late anyway.

—Cool then —Brendon says, leaning in for a second before catching himself—. Oops, sorry. Habits —he says. And then he’s gone.

Leaving Ryan’s heart pounding fast in his chest. For a moment it looked like…

For a moment he thought Brendon was going to kiss him.

Ryan leans on the couch, taking his almost full beer, drinking as he thinks about what Brendon said, about the spies’ thing. About Seattle.

That motherfucker talked about Seattle like it was just another memory, and, of course, it is, but it is not at the same time. Seattle… Seattle’s different.

Seattle brings back a lot of memories, good ones and bad ones. Ryan remembers Seattle, remembers being so mad in love, so young an naïve, he felt like a poet, leaving his girlfriend there, taking a flight in the middle of the night, just to see him, to kiss him, to feel him. He felt like he could write songs forever just on that moment.

Seattle made him thought they were invincible, love were invincible, nobody could ever take them apart because not even the distance could make them not to be together. It looked like a fairy tale became true. It felt like they could get beyond anything and anyone. Like they would last forever.

Ryan’s not sure if he wants to laugh at that or feel pity for those poor young hearts that didn’t know a thing about the world.

He takes another sip to his beer.

 

*

 

Dan’s mad at him, actually mad. Ryan doesn’t want that. Dan’s the only one who never gets mad at him, he always understands his actions, he always comforts him when anyone else is talking shit. That’s why he feels so fucking bad when Ryland tells him Dan’s fucking mad at him.

—He said you turned down the party for some dude? Is that true? —Ryland asks, and Ryan thanks Dan for not telling on him about Brendon even when he’s mad.

—It’s… complicated —Ryan says, and Ryland looks at him funny.

—Dude, don’t do that. You know Dan’s only coming because he wants to spend time with you —Ryland says, and he’s actually right—. Come on, come to the party. Stay just a couple of hours and then come home.

Ryan bites the inside of his mouth. Yes, he could do that. He could try.

 

*

 

Ryan ends up coming home at five in the morning. He falls on his bed, hoping that brunch Brendon talked about was less breakfast and more lunch.

When the bells ring Ryan feels like he hasn’t sleep at all even if it’s midday already. He drags his feet on the floor, gathering all his strength to get to the door and opening it. When he focuses his sight, he can see Brendon’s pale face and the dark circles under his tired eyes. Ryan blinks a few times.

—Fuck, you look like shit —He says, letting Brendon in.

—Have you looked yourself in a mirror lately? —Brendon says back.

Touché.

They both fall on the couch, not talking for a few seconds. Ryan doesn’t even think about how this time Brendon doesn’t have Bogart with him.

—Party hard last night? —Ryan asks, moving his knee, hitting Brendon’s leg.

—Some of us actually go to work, you know? I just came off a plane from fucking Texas. I think I’m gonna die —Brendon groans, and Ryan laughs.

—Shit —he snorts—, I think I’m glad I quitted.

—Fuck you —Brendon spits, rubbing his eyes with his hands—. How was the party? —He asks. Courtesy, Ryan assumes. Ryan just shrugs instead of answering. Nothing special, kind of like always. Brendon hums—. So… who’s cooking?

—Fuck cooking —Ryan says and they both laugh.

They end up eating Ryan’s lemon squares, and they’re fucking awesome even if they’re not fresh made anymore. Ryan supposes the lack of sleep is actually really similar to be stoned, so the squares works pretty well.

With all the eating thing, and having Brendon there, Ryan feels like he’s finally waking up, but Brendon’s falling asleep on the couch as they speak. It’s kind of funny to see. And maybe even adorable.

—Hey —Ryan shakes him by his shoulder—. You can crash here for a while if you want —he offers. And Brendon tries to say no, but his yawn stops him from talking. Ryan laughs—. You’re fucking wasted, man. Come on, you can take the bed, I don’t mind. Sorry I don’t have a guest room. There’s usually no guest around here.

—And when they are, they all use your bed, don’t they? —Brendon says, getting up sleepily and walking down to the bedroom, letting Ryan guide him.

—Yeah, basically —Ryan admits and Brendon smiles, shaking his head. Ryan wonders what has he thought about.

Brendon falls on the unmade bed like a dead body, getting comfortable after a little while fighting the pillows. Ryan sits on the edge, reclining a little to rest on his elbow. Brendon looks at him with red eyes. That kid needs to sleep.

—Why did you cut your hair? —Brendon asks, obviously raving for the lack of sleep.

—Why did you cut yours? —Ryan asks back.

—Because I’m getting bald —Brendon answers and Ryan genuinely laughs this time

—You are —He says, reaching and touching Brendon’s hair without thinking. It’s the moment his fingers touch Brendon’s scalp when he looks at him and Ryan tenses up. But then Brendon closes his eyes and leans in the touch, so Ryan lets his finger rumble around—. It looks good on you, though.

—I know —Brendon smiles, not opening his eyes—. Eh. Come here, come on. You need to sleep too, party boy —He says, patting the side next to him—. I promise I wont dry hump your leg in my sleep.

Ryan laughs at that, not thinking about how his heart pounds in his chest as he slides beside Brendon, letting him tuck an arm around his waist.

—I wouldn’t be the fist time… —He says, and Brendon smiles wider.

—I know, I’m sorry —Brendon says, his voice slowed down and sleepy—. I was so horny back then, Jesus. I never meant to grind all over you, seriously. I just liked to sleep together. You always made me feel…

Ryan waits for the sentence to finish. He waits and then he waits more, until he realize Brendon’s totally asleep, with his pouty mouth slightly open and his eyelashes fluttering as he breathes.

 

*

 

It kind of becomes a thing, Brendon coming to his house to crash for a couple of hours when he has a flight. Brendon says it’s because Ryan’s home is closer to the airport, and Ryan chooses to believe it, even if there’s really not a substantial difference from Echo to Encino.

Sometimes they don’t even talk. Brendon just comes and they get to bed, falling immediately asleep. Some other times they do talk, when Brendon’s not really that tired. They talk about music, they talk about projects, they talk about movies and TV shows, they talk about their shitty friends and joke about what their reactions would be if they found out about them.

Brendon thinks Zack would be the worst, he would tell him he’s crazy and he would threaten him with not talking to him ever again.

Ryan thinks Shane would blow his brains with his father’s 45. It wouldn’t be a great lost anyway.

—Do any of your friends know? I mean, beside Spencer? —Ryan asks. Brendon shakes his head.

—Not really…  Well, Jake knows, but he’s cool with you. I thought about telling Sarah, but she would have told Breezy, and Breezy would write fanfiction about it and spread it to the world, so I thought better not.

—I see… —Ryan says, looking at the ceiling—. Dan and Z know. I wouldn’t mind telling the others, but Gabe would probably end up telling Pete, and…

—Yeah, I know…

They both just lie there for a minute, in silence. Ryan wonders why it has to be always so difficult for them to be anything.

—How we always end up having secrets? —Brendon asks, and Ryan smiles. He likes it when Brendon reads his thoughts. Always have.

—It’s probably a cosmic conspiracy —Ryan answer—. The planets and stars aligned when we were born, setting our destiny, writing on stone we could never be what we need to be. That or we were stupid as fuck years ago and now we have to deal with the collateral damage.

Ryan wasn’t paying attention as he spoke, but now, when he turns his head to his side, he can see how Brendon’s looking at him with a warm smile on his face. His skin tingles a little. He swallows.

—I like to hear you talk. You don’t do that so often —Brendon says, and Ryan fights the urge to take it as a compliment. It doesn’t mean anything, Brendon loves to hear anybody talk, especially if that someone is himself—. And for the reason of our secrets, I think I like the conspiracy thing better.

—Of course you do —Ryan rolls his eyes, smiling. “God forbids you to admit you’re some kind of a failure”, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. What for?

They stay in silence again, just breathing, looking at each other in an absolutely terrifying confortable way. Ryan knows he could get used to this again, this sharing with Brendon. Sharing home, sharing bed, sharing thoughts. He doesn’t want to think about it, though, because he knows he’s not meant to live a dream, he’s meant to turn anything into a nightmare.

Brendon lift one of his hands softly, almost like it was at slow motion, touching Ryan’s cheek, sliding his lazy fingers behind his ear, touching his hair. Ryan doesn’t move an inch, he just keep looking at Brendon. Now that they’re this close, now that his visual field is so reduced he can only see Brendon’s eyes, Brendon’s nose, Brendon’s lips, it looks like the time hasn’t passed at all and they’re still teenagers trying to figure out how not to suck at this thing called life. Hiding in his bunk, sharing secrets between giggles.

Ryan wants to kiss him.

It’s a shame he can’t, they can’t. It’s not that they shouldn’t, no. They can’t do it. It’s physically impossible for the two of them to kiss. There’s probably even a force field around them, and if they tried to, they would be shot out to each end of the room the moment their fields made contact. And if they managed to break the fields, if they actually managed to kiss, it would be the end of the world, every clock would stop, the sea would dry, the cosmos would shut down and the space-time would close in on itself.

—Who the fuck cares about the time and space? —Brendon says as his hand curls in the back of Ryan’s neck.

They kiss.

It’s just a soft pressure at first, so light their foreheads are touching more that their lips, but it’s enough to make Ryan’s skin buzz. Brendon has his eyes closed, and his breath is warm when he sighs, touching Ryan’s cheek with his thumb. There’s another pressure, his noses crunch against each other and they’re kissing again, Ryan feeling bubbles at the bottom of his belly. He licks his lips because they’re dry, but they haven’t separate yet, so he licks Brendon’s lips too. That’s when Brendon opens his mouth, allowing him to come inside, their bodies tangling together, getting closer, closer.

Ryan licks the inside of Brendon’s mouth, tasting beer and smoke and candy, such a rare combination he hadn’t taste anywhere else. He sucks at his lips, trying to swallow him. He’s missed this taste so much. God, so, so much.

Brendon moans soft, dragging his bottom lip over Ryan’s, licking him just with the tip of his tongue before Ryan deeps his hands in Brendon’s hair, pushing him in, wanting to eat him, wanting to have him forever. Their mouths close on each other, their bodies warming up so fast, grinding and rubbing and pressing harder. Ryan can feel the sweat coating Brendon’s hair on his fingers, can feel the gasps coming from his mouth, can feel the hard line of his cock pressing against his hip.

Ryan’s hard too, harder that he’s ever been in a long time, but when Brendon push his hand between their bodies, Ryan takes him by his wrist, holding tight as he pull his hand out. “No. Please”, he says against Brendon’s lips. He would love too, really, but not now. He doesn’t want sex now, he wants this. The dark and brutal intimacy of a kiss, a little sign of love in his life full of carnal sensations.

Brendon understands, he does, as he brings his hand to Ryan’s face again, touching him sweetly as they kiss. Just kiss.

They do just that for hours. Kiss and kiss and stop just to catch some air and keep kissing, and kiss a little more. When they actually break apart, their lips are sored raw and their cheeks are flustered, their hair a mess and their limbs still tangled. They look at each other as if they were lovers who hadn’t seen themselves in years, yearning, craving, needing to finally reunite. Maybe that’s what they are, after all.

Every clock in the world keeps ticking.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

Z just sighs, taking the slender cigarette to her lips. She’s wearing sunglasses. Ryan would like to see her eyes to actually know what she’s thinking about. He told her because he felt like he owned her that. The truth. Because Z can be a lot of things, but she’s not a liar, and she’s never, ever hide anything from Ryan. It’s the same with Dan, who’s resting in the wooden armchair near the pool, not looking at Ryan, pretending he doesn’t care when he really cares too much.

Ryan told them because they are his closest friends, they don’t have secrets with each other, and they deserved to know. But that’s all. Ryan’s not looking for an advice, even if he knows they’re going to give some anyway.

—I’m not telling you to stop, okay? —Z says, crossing her legs, flicking the cigarette—. I just want you to understand this thing is bad for the both of you.

—So you’re telling me to stop —Ryan clarifies.

—Well…

—I don’t get why everybody thinks it’s so bad, that’s all! —Ryan says, and he can hear Dan snort, shaking his head.

—Because you kissed him, Ryan —Z explains, and Ryan would like to put that into context because, technically, it was Brendon who kissed him—. I was okay with your friendship, I swear I was. But this is getting out of hand, and you’re going to get hurt again. And, honestly, baby, I’m not ready to babysit you all over again. I’m too old for that. You’re supposed to learn form your mistakes, not repeating them.

Well, yeah. He knows that was a mistake. Kissing. Because he’s not even out enough to fall again in whatever he and Brendon had, and Brendon’s married, no matter how fucked up Spencer says his marriage is. They’re not ready to be anything more than friends, and it would really be healthy if they manage to stay as that. Just friends.

They’ve talked about it on the phone. Brendon hasn’t come home since it happened, but it’s just because this weeks he’s been busy on the studio, and he hasn’t take any flight anyway. Maybe it’s just an excuse, but Ryan needed the time alone to think about everything too, so he doesn’t care about it.

The thing is, they both agreed on how the kissing thing was a mistake, and they both wanted to give it a try at this new friendship they were starting. So that’s not the problem, it’s not a problem. The kissing thing, not a problem at all.

—It’s not like we can take it back or whatever. But we can’t take back a lot of shit that happened in the past, and here we are. We’re trying, we can get over it, start again as friends —Ryan says, and Z presses her lips together, trying to repress a laugh—. Come on! It’s not like we fucked or anything.

—That’s actually the worst part! —Dan says suddenly, standing up his chair, taking his sunglasses off, walking towards Ryan, sitting in front of him—. And it scares me that you don’t even see it —Ryan starts to roll his eyes because, really, this is a little too overdramatic even for him, but Dan keeps talking—. If you had told me you were high or horny, or high _and_ horny, if you had told me ‘Dan, it was just a quick fuck, he looked fucking hot and I couldn’t resist’, then, _then_ it wouldn’t be so bad. But you came here and told us you two kissed like teenagers, but it’s okay because you’ll get over it. Well, fuck you, Ryan. Go on and ruin your life again. But don’t tell we didn’t warn you.

Those words said, Dan stands up again, mumbling something and walking inside the house. Ryan feels cold inside as he watches Dan leave. He knows this it’s going to mark their friendship forever, and he really hopes Dan will still be there for him if in the end everything goes to hell as they predicted.

Z gives him a paternalist look, reaching for him to stroke his hair, but Ryan leans away from her. He doesn’t need pity right now. He’s done with that. Z sighs again, resting her hand in Ryan’s shoulder for a moment before standing up and head towards the house too. Ryan rubs his temples.

He ends up going home early. They were supposed to wait for Vincent and Mark, and they would go to this new place where Phases will play a show next week. Well, what a shame, Ryan’s going to be at home, not listening to stupid things.

He grabs his leather jacket from the couch where Dan is sitting, not bothering to say goodbye as he walks to the front door. He hears Z calling his name just once, but he’s already closing the door behind him.

The drive home is relatively quiet. He puts on some Beatles music. It’s been a long time since he heard any of them on purpose, but today he feels it’s the only thing that could cheer him up. He shuts it down when the first chords of “Here comes the sun” reach his ears. Fuck the world. Fuck everything. Fuck the sun.

He takes his phone, putting it on speaker as he calls the only person that could make him feel better right now. The line gives one, two, three tones before the sweet voice ask hello. Ryan smiles.

—Hey, Ginger —Ryan greets, and the woman makes a surprised noise at the other end of the line. Ryan laughs.

—Oh my God, Ryan, sweetheart, it’s been so long! —He hears her say—. Are you okay, son? It’s everything good?

—I’m good, I’m good —He says, not wanting her to worry—. Sorry about… Not calling and…

—It’s okay, sweetheart —The woman says, his voice dropping a little—. I know things have been hard for you and the boys. And I know you and Spencer had your troubles. But I didn’t want you to stop calling, Ryan. You are part of this family, son. You will always be, okay?

Ryan huffs, feeling the warming feeling crawling up his body. Family’s still an odd word for him. Panic! was family, Brendon was family, and of course the Smiths were family. But he lost them all, and suddenly there was no family anymore.

But, as he speaks to Ginger, talking about Spencer’s wedding, about how’s everything going back home in Vegas, about those old photos Ginger still keeps in the bottom drawer of the bookcase in the living room, Ryan starts to think maybe, just maybe, he can get his family back.

—Ginger, I was wondering… —he stops for a moment, thinking about what to say—. Do you mind if I ask you something?

—Of course, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.

—It’s just… —Ryan takes a deep breath, getting ready for what he’s going to say—. There’s this person. They are very important to me, always been. But we kind of parted separate ways, and now we both have our own life, and we’re happy —He explains.

—But…? —The woman says and Ryan laughs.

—But. We hurt ourselves. We did long ago, and we do it now too. And everybody’s telling me I should stay things as they are…

—But —Ginger says again and Ryan scratches his head.

—But… I don’t… I don’t want to lose them again. I — _love him, need him_ , the words come and go across his brain, but Ryan’s not going to say it—… I think we could work it out. Don’t know how, though.

The woman hums and Ryan waits for her to answer. Ginger probably knows whom he’s talking about. That woman has been the only one who could read him like a book since he was a little kid.

—Well, honey. Sometimes we do things that push people away —She starts to say and, yeah, she knows whom he was talking about. Ryan almost flushes—. And then people do the same with us, but that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. And we need to learn that life’s too short to stay away form someone you love just because our pride is stronger than us, or because we are too afraid of getting hurt again… or to hurt again. Sometimes we need to forgive, Ryan. Forgive the ones who hurt us, but also forgive ourselves for hurting them.

Ryan takes a deep breath, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. Memories had been floating in his head while Ginger was talking, all those times, all those hateful words they said to each other. And at the end, Ryan was so afraid to do any more damage that he ended up leaving, but somehow, at the same time, he hoped Brendon would ask him to stay, make him stay. Everything was confusing, and suddenly everyone had something to say about them, everybody knew what was the best for them except them. And, in the end, everything hurt more, everything was worst.

—Thanks, Ginger —He speaks, clearing his throat—. I gotta go now. I promise I’ll come to visit soon.

—And call more often. And take care —the woman says, making Ryan laugh—. And, sweetheart?

—Yeah?

—Don’t let anybody convince you to throw away a chance to be happy. Not even yourself.

Ryan smiles as the connection ends.

 

*

 

It’s hard. Doing things without those people who have been there for him these last years, who have taken care of him, even if it was in their own weird way. Ryan knows his friends love him, and want the best for him even when the best for him it’s something he doesn’t want. Ryan had let them do it, had let them take care of him and, in the process, he stop taking care of himself.

But the thing is, those times Ryan didn’t really knew what was the best for him, he was lost in his mind and he needed someone to hold him, to help him stay stand. And he’s thankful, he truly is. But that’s not him anymore. Now he needs to take control of his own life again. Of course, he was never super good at it, but. It was him. And he needs to be him again.

The first thing he does the morning after his talk with Ginger is turn on his computer, recovering all those old files, all those lyrics he wrote and almost throw away. He sends messages to the right people, set meetings, make promises he will keep. He text Dan and apologizes, and attaches a text file to the message with the title “I told you I was writing”.

He takes his guitar. That one. The one that makes him nervous because it’s been years, so many years, since the last time he used it. But that’s the point. The point is not being confortable and doing it anyway.

He composes again. The words flowing so easily it’s almost unbelievable. Not bleeding, flowing. His old notebook opened in front of him, all those things he felt finally being useful. All those memories finally making sense.

He writes just one more text.

_I want to see you_

All those days of hiding, of not talking, of pretending… Those days are over. Ryan is not someone who hides, never was. He’s strong, he can take more shit than anyone he ever met, he’s been doing that his whole life. So why hiding? Fuck pride. Fuck fear.

What’s the worst he could get? A rejection? Oh, boohoo, he’s taken worst. A rejection would only make things easier, really. It’s not like he wants that, but. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. In fact, anything that happens for now on would be the end of the world. Because this, this is the fucking beginning.

_Got a lot of work_

_Can’t go rn_

Ryan laughs a little through his nose when he sees the reply, his fingers moving fast to the neck of the guitar in his lap, new chords forming as the feelings follow. Even a dismissal from Brendon makes him productive. Fuck that guy.

_But_

_You could come_

_If you want_

His fingers stop in the frets, frozen. He wasn’t expecting that. Now it’s his decision, his rejection, his acceptance. Didn’t he want to take control? Now’s the moment.

_You want me to?_

He types, because he cannot help it, he needs to be sure. He doesn’t want courtesy, not with anyone, but much less with him.

_Please do_

Two words that make him put his guitar at the side grabbing the car keys and his leather jacket even if it’s fucking hot outside. He puts on his shoes and smooths his hair with his fingers. He’s not sure how he’s going to act at Brendon’s, he doesn’t know what about to talk with Sarah, he’s not even sure if there won’t be anyone else there. Maybe Spencer, or, God forbid, Zack. In any case, the drive to Encino takes half an hour, so Ryan has time to think about it.

He kind of wants to call Ginger again and thank her, but he doesn’t want any distractions now that he’s nervous enough while he takes the turns that takes him to Brendon’s neighborhood. He hates how they live so far apart now, when years ago Ryan just had to walk a few miles before knocking at his door. But he supposes it had to be that way, now that Brendon has more and more recognition each day. And, well, a bigger house is required if you plan on raise kids and… stuff.

It’s something he knows is going to bother him when it happens, and it will happen, and he should be able to help it, but he’s not going to. It’s going to bother him a lot and he’s going to be pissed off, but he needs to remember Brendon’s life is not his anymore, and, if they’re going to be friends again, he needs to learn how to be happy about things that make him mad. And sad.

When he gets to the right street he parks almost in front of the house. He wonders if he should have taken a cab like Brendon did when he visited him, but he’s sure nobody knows or care which car he drives, so he’s safe. They’re safe.

Anyway, if they’re going to be friends, the world would end up knowing one way or another sometime, wouldn’t it?

The doors open before Ryan can call to the entry phone, and when he crosses the fence, Brendon’s right there on the front door as the first time Ryan went there to return Bogart. The dog runs toward him, sniffing and waving his tail as a greeting. Ryan stops to pet him a little before keep walking to Brendon.

He’s wearing a white tank top that had seen better days, cropped jeans, and a smile that’s making the sun feel ashamed. Ryan rubs his face with his hand, but he cannot get rid of the way his lips form into a concave curve.

Ryan has a full smile on when Brendon hugs him tight, right there on the front door, not even waiting to go inside. He hides his face in Brendon’s neck, pressing him closer, fighting the need to sneak his fingers under the fabric and touch skin.

—It’s almost ridiculous how much I’ve been missing you these days —Brendon laughs, without breaking the hug.

—It’s almost ridiculous how weird it is to hug someone shorter than me —Ryan says, and Brendon pushes him, laughing, mumbling something that sounds like ‘idiot’ and getting out of the way, inviting Ryan to go inside.

Brendon’s house is spacious and full of natural light, it feels a lot different that his house, which is always covered in like an old sepia filter. Ryan thinks both houses fit themselves very well. It’s weird how Ryan seems to fit there, though, with his old leather jacket, his Beatles shirt and his black jeans, like a discordant note that somehow manage to sound good in a perfect song.

—Where’s Sarah? —Ryan asks when he realizes that there’s only the two of them there.

—Oh… Dunno —Brendon shrugs, going to the open kitchen—. Beer? —Ryan just nods, leaning against the counter while Brendon opens the fridge—. She’s always going here and there, you know? It’s hard to keep her track.

Ryan just make a ‘hum’ noise, taking the beer Brendon leaves for him in the counter, heading to the couch where they both sit. Brendon brings a six-pack, putting it in the small table in front of them. Ryan thinks about the things Spencer said, about his marriage going to hell.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head, taking his jacket off because he’s fucking burning inside out with that thing on. Brendon laughs.

—Dude, take off the shoes too, you’re gonna die —he says, and Ryan notice he’s barefoot—. You take your outfit too seriously. Always have.

—What can I say? —Ryan sighs, dramatically, as he takes off his shoes and gets his feet on the sofa, sitting in the lotus position—. I like to be pretty.

—I don’t need an outfit for that. I’m pretty without clothes —Brendon says, joking, and Ryan bites his tongue to not agree with that.

 

*

 

It’s surprisingly easy to find a topic of conversation with Brendon, always have, and if Ryan thought being at Brendon’s house, a strange new and hostile place, would change that, he was clearly wrong. In fact, they talk about the past, talk about that time in Spencer’s garage when Brent passed out for just having a beer, or that other time in the Circus tour when Brendon flirted with three groupies and it was the first time he had a foursome but no one in the crew believed him. They talk about the night in Myrtle Beach, how fucking hyper the two of them were. They talk about Seattle, and how that was they craziest thing any of them had ever done.

They talk about things that Ryan hasn’t talk about ever, because a lot of reasons. But all of those reasons seem to disappear when Brendon’s there.

—Dude, I still remember when you were straightedge —Brendon laughs, standing up and going to the kitchen again, looking in one of the cabinets—. You were always scolding me for not being healthy, because that wasn’t “real punk” —He says, making the quotation marks with his fingers—. But the truth was you were straightedge only because Wentz was, or said he was.

—Oh, fuck off, dude —Ryan laughs, covering his face with his hands—. Don’t remind me that. That’s low, Urie.

—It’s so fucking truuuue —Brendon says, taking what he was looking for, closing the cabinets—. Thanks God you ended all that shit —He says, waving a plastic bag full of weed right on Ryan’s nose.

—Really? —Ryan asks when Brendon throws it at him.

—I miss getting stoned with you! It was so fucking funny —Brendon pouts, looking for some rolling paper in his wallet, throwing it at Ryan too—. I think there’s enough to cover that.

—All of this?? —Ryan asks, opening the bag and licking the tip of his fingers, starting to roll a blunt—. I don’t know you, dude, but if I smoke a quarter of this I’m gonna be fucking baked. That’s what you want? For me to be the first person to die on pot?

Brendon laughs out loud, checking the empty bottles of beer in the table, going to the kitchen for some more. When Ryan looks at him funny, Brendon shakes his head.

—Come on, Ryan. I’m sure you can take that —He says, opening the fridge—. I’m pretty sure you’ve taken worst than that…

Ryan huffs, rolling his eyes and sighting a little. He finishes the joint, licking at the paper to close it, putting in on top of an empty beer bottle.

—I don’t know why all of you seem to think I’m some kind of junkie. It’s like you don’t fucking know me. Yeah, I smoke pot. And yes, I’ve done coke a couple of times, pills too. But it’s not like I’m looking at the clock waiting for another dose, you know? I drink beer and eat Cheetos on a daily basis. That’s it. My life is actually boring. The time I’ve been more on drugs was when we were in the cabin.

Brendon laughs at that, but then Ryan supposes he realizes Ryan’s not joking, and he raises his eyebrows, shaping his lips in a perfect ‘o’.

—Oh… Really? —Brendon asks, and Ryan rolls his eyes again—. That’s… Well, that’s awesome. Not that you live on Cheetos, you totally should change that, but. You know. Everything else.

—You think it’s awesome my life is boring? —Ryan asks, taking the beer Brendon’s offering him.

—I think it’s awesome you’re not an addict —Brendon answers, sitting besides him, taking the joint to his lips and lighting it—. You know? It was fucking hard with Spence. You should’ve been there, motherfucker —He says with his lips crooked, trying not to let the blunt fall off them.

—Yeah… I know —Ryan knows, but it’s not like he could do anything now to change that. He wishes he could, anyway.

—But, well, _the past is in the paaaast_ —Brendon sings that song of Frozen, passing Ryan the blunt once he takes the first hit—. It’s good we left all that behind. —He says, but suddenly he jumps out of the sofa, startling Ryan—. Fuck! It’s so fucking late, goddammit!

—What? —Ryan asks. Late? It’s the fucking afternoon.

—I told you I had a lot of work. It wasn’t a lie, you know? I’m supposed to send those samples to Jake today. Fuck! —Brendon curses, taking the blunt from Ryan’s hand and giving it a long drag before return it to Ryan.

—You want me to leave? —He asks, because now he does feel out of place.

—Fuck no. Come on, the studio’s over there. Take the pot.

Ryan lets himself be dragged out of the house, walking barefoot through Brendon’s front yard, going to what it looks like a considerable big shed. He waits as Brendon inputs the password to the inside door, wondering why the fuck would Brendon want a password in his own home and, even weirder, why he doesn’t cover the numbers for Ryan to see.

Once inside, Ryan gets to have a look at the studio. It’s not a lot bigger than his, only the part where he can fit the drums in. It’s cool though, a lot like the rest of the house, a lot like Brendon. He walks to the drum kit, feeling kind of relived to see the name of the band is not there.

—The drumsticks are over there —Brendon says, sitting at the computer, putting the headphones on—. You can play, if you want. You can play whatever. I’ll try not to take too much time.

Ryan nods, even if he doesn’t intend to play anything. That would be out of place, to play Brendon’s instruments, the ones Brendon uses to record Brendon’s music, for Brendon’s band, the one that’s not his anymore.

He walks down the place instead, watching, looking at the brands, taking mental notes to compare sounds once he gets home. He takes one of the guitars, an acoustic one, placing his fingers in the right places to play London Beckoned but not making any sound. It’s neither the moment nor the place to get nostalgic.

—You mind if I take this off —Brendon says, talking about the headphones—. And I need you to give me that just a minute. You weren’t playing, right? —He says, pointing at the guitar.

—No, it’s okay —Ryan says, giving it to him.

—I just… —Brendon takes a cable, imputing the guitar to the PC—. I was working on something, but I think I would be better if I make some changes. You mind?

—Me? —Ryan raises his eyebrows—. Fuck no, I mean. If you’re okay with me hearing your demos…

—Of course. It’s you, man. It’s okay —Brendon says as he plays the sample on the computer and start adding some rhythms with the acoustic guitar.

Talking about nostalgia… It’s not their place, it’s not the cabin, but it’s a studio and here they are, Brendon and him, playing new music no one has listen yet. Brendon frowns when something doesn’t go as he wants to, placing his tongue between his teeth like a little kid to help him focus. Ryan feels the need to help him, to take over while Brendon rests, but that’s not his place anymore.

—Hey, what do you prefer? —Brendon says, playing something —. This? Or… —He plays something slightly different—. This.

—Do that again —Ryan asks, rolling his finger.

Brendon plays it again a couple of times, and then Ryan asks him for the lyrics, playing it once more, this time singing along.

—So, what do you think? —Brendon asks again.

—I think… —Ryan approaches to him, taking the guitar from his hands—. Maybe this? —He says, as he plays a variation of what Brendon had been doing.

His body stiffs when Brendon starts to sing along, but he doesn’t stop. And his fingers catch the melody because Brendon has been playing it, so he keeps playing, and Brendon keeps singing. And they’re playing a new song. Together.

Ryan stops.

—Whoa… —He laughs nervously, touching the back of his neck—. That was weird…

—Yeah… —Brendon nods, moving his jaw, biting the inside of his mouth—. You brought the weed, right? I think I need a joint.

 

*

 

They’re leaning in the wall, sitting on the floor of the studio. Brendon finally sent those samples to Jake and he went for a couple of beers, bringing a small water pipe because they ran out of paper.

Ryan doesn’t think he has had so much weed in, like, ever.

Brendon laughs at him, at his shiny eyes and his redden lips. He laughs so much his cheeks are flushed and he’s sweating, and his hair falls in a weird way and sticks to his forehead and his neck. Ryan feels everything going slow.

—You’re so baked, oh my god —Brendon teases him.

—I can’t believe you truly though I was a cokehead, dude… —Ryan shakes his head, taking a sip at his almost warm beer—. You know coke doesn’t work well on me. It makes my brain think weird shit and suddenly I’m finding hidden signs everywhere.

—I know, dude, I don’t know —Brendon laughs, resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder, smiling with his mouth open—. Aaahhh… I don’t even know how all of that started, but it was normal and then everybody said you were partying hard, fucking everyone in the ass and slapping you cock on their foreheads asking ‘who’s your master’.

They both burst into laughs, Ryan bumping his head on the wall, making a pain noise and rubbing the spot, making Brendon laugh even more.

—I… kind of did, you know? Or I tried —Ryan says, making a face—. Fucking everyone in the ass. Not the cock slapping, though.

Brendon covers his face with his hands, laughing so hard Ryan’s pretty sure everyone in the neighborhood would hear him if the studio wasn’t soundproof.

—So you were a fuck boy, eh, fuck boy? —Brendon smirks. Ryan shakes his head, repressing a smile.

—Oh, fuck you —He says, looking away.

—It’s that a promise? —Brendon asks, and Ryan feels his whole body shudders.

—Fuck off… —Ryan says, trying to laugh, but the air has gotten thicker, and his throat is getting dry.

Ryan finishes his beer just to get something wet now that he’s not producing saliva, licking his lips and putting the empty bottle away. They sit in silence for a minute, both looking at nothing, just smoking. Just. There.

—You told your friends about it? —Brendon asks suddenly—. About what happened?

—Hmm… —Ryan nods, sucking at the pipe—. Just Z and Dan, they deserved it —He explains, letting the smoke out.

—So you told your girlfriend and your boyfriend —Brendon chants stupidly, making Ryan laugh.

—Dan’s not my boyfriend. And Z’s not my girlfriend. She was, but now she’s more like a babysitter —He laughs—. Dan’s like a brother to me.

—Duuuude, you’ve got a weird sibling concept if you think it’s okay to fuck your brother —Brendon says, and Ryan push him on the shoulder, making Brendon shift and slide down the wall, falling on the floor, resting his head on Ryan’s lap.

Brendon looks at Ryan for a moment, biting his bottom lip repeatedly while a wide smile forms in his face and, is that guilt? Brendon laughs.

—I told Spencer —He says like a kid confessing a mischief.

—Oh, fuck! —Ryan groans.

—Yep. It turns out that he has some weird ideas about what to do about it…

—I _know_ —Ryan groans again, rubbing his eyes—. He’s like, trying to compensate all the shit he gave us when we were younger… I already told him he’s crazy.

—You did? —Brendon asks, his smile fading a little for some reason. Ryan just nods, and Brendon hums—. Gimme that —He takes the pipe off Ryan’s fingers.

When Ryan agreed on going to Brendon’s house, it wasn’t this what he had in mind. Some beers, some chitchat, maybe some music, _maybe_. But he swears to God he never though he would end up like this, stoned as fuck laughing at nothings and dropping hints every now and then. They’re just playing around a bit, it’s really nothing.

It’s fun. Just fun.

—Dude, I don’t know why, but I kinda want cherries right now —Ryan says, and they both laugh like idiots—. You know? That fucking feeling when you’re so stoned you suddenly want something really bad? That’s me right now. With cherries. Right now.

Brendon laughs even more, his cheeks totally flushed now, taking the pipe to his lips, taking a drag before letting the smoke out with a giggle.

—You know what do I want? —Brendon presses his lips tight, trying to repress the laugh, but it only makes it come out louder—. I want to suck your cock so bad, man.

Ryan wants to blame the weed. And, in some way, it’s true, it’s the weed’s fault. But that doesn’t change the fact that Brendon has just told him he want to sucks his cock.

—It’s the same with you and cherries —Brendon explains—. I need you cock in my mouth, like, yesterday, you know? I crave your taste, I want it all over my tongue. I still remember how you taste, and it’s not like it was always the same, cause it changed sometimes, but it was always so fucking good —he says, closing his eyes, remembering—. So fucking good, Ry…

—Yeah? —Ryan says because, what else is he supposed to say? ‘Awesome, B, I love that you’re telling me this here, in your house, in your studio, where you fucking wife can come in any second!’? Or… she can’t, because there’s a password in the door and… oh god. Oh, fuck.

—Fuck yes —Brendon bites his lips, still laughing when he rubs his cheek against Ryan’s cock—. And you’re getting hard thinking about it.

—Of course I’m getting hard! —Ryan exclaims, a little bit defensive— Cause you’re rubbing your face on my cock, and you’re talking about sucking me!

—I bet no one has ever suck your cock like me —Brendon says, a superior smirk on his face as he licks his lips.

—You’re stoned —Ryan mutters, as if that was the magic words that could change everything. As if Brendon didn’t know already.

—Admit it, come on —Brendon laughs, turning his face in Ryan’s lap, nuzzling at his groin, opening his lips over the fabric—. Tell me, Ry…

—Brendon! —Ryan grabs his hair hard, making Brendon look at him. His eyes are wide open when they meet Ryan’s, his skin flushed and his lips open. And it’s so difficult for Ryan, it is, but he has to do it—. Stop it.

Brendon looks at him some more, his eyes scanning his face, as if he were trying to find something. When he gets up he does it slow, or maybe it’s Ryan who sees it that way.

—Sorry… —Brendon whispers, leaning his head on Ryan’s shoulder—. Sorry, sorry, I just… Sorry.

 

*

 

Ryan knows better than to talk about the little incident with Brendon with Z or Dan, they already made clear their opinion about it, and telling them that would only make them say ‘I told you’ or worst. He can’t tell Spencer neither, even if he’s not sure if Brendon would tell him anyway. But Ryan already knows Spencer’s opinion, and he needs someone who’s not determined for the circumstances. Of course, he can’t call Ginger this time, because… Well, it’s obvious why not.

So he’s alone in this. No one to help him choose what to do with the memory of Brendon’s heat warming his skin, Brendon’s eyes haunting him, Brendon’s mouth…

He decides that the best thing to do is write it off, get it out of his nervous system and putting it on paper, on sounds, make what he does best. Music.

Music has always been a way out, since he was a little boy. He remembers writing down everything he couldn’t explain, everything nobody had time to hear. He remembers making music when he wanted to scream, making music when he wanted to cry, making music when he wanted to kiss.

Every time his father didn’t talk, every time his mother didn’t listen, every time Spencer was too busy, every time Brendon was too far away, music was there for him.

And it’s been so long since he was there for music.

There are some phone calls, getting people to work with, studios properly equipped, things that are kind of difficult to find in a rush, but Ryan has a lot of friends in the industry, and by the end of the week, he’s recording like he wasn’t since years ago. Dan works with him in some little things, and tells him to let the publishing thing to him. Ryan’s not sure if he wants Dan to involve in this project. He knows better than to involve people he loves in his work. That’s not a mistake he’s willing to make again.

He wants to talk to Brendon, he really wants, but suddenly there’s work everywhere and I can’t find the time to do it. Or maybe he doesn’t know what to say. But Brendon’s not calling either and everything’s getting cold.

Ryan doesn’t want to leave Brendon behind, but his music needs him more.

 

*

 

—You are fucking stupid —Spencer says the moment Ryan puts the phone on his ear.

—Hi to you too, dude.

—What the fuck, Ryan? —Spencer’s mad. Okay. He gets it. Now, if he could get to the point where actually tells him why, it would be awesome—. I can’t believe you’re doing it all over again.

—What am I doing? —He asks, hoping this time he gets an answer.

—Fucking things up! —Ryan rolls his eyes. So no answer then.

—Spence, I don’t know what you’re talking about…

—I’m talking about stop talking to Brendon, you asshole! —He rants—. When I told you about his life being a mess and to go talk to him, I meant to _help_ , not to fuck him up even more than he already is.

—Wait, wait, wait —Ryan blinks repeatedly. What—. I didn’t stop talking to him! I was at his house like… maybe a week ago? —He’s not really sure. He hasn’t sleep a lot.

—I _know_ you were at his house, motherfucker. It was almost a month ago.

Wait, what? A month??

—I’m pretty sure…

—Do you actually live under a rock, Ross? It’s been a fucking month. And I’m not going to comment on what happened in his house, but you stop talking to him after that is really fucked up, dude.

—I never…

—Ryan —Spencer interrupts him again, and he’s going to complain, but Spencer’s voice is starting to worry him—. He’s a fucking mess, he’s drinking himself under the table, he thinks you…

—He thinks I what? —Ryan asks, because Spencer can’t stop the fucking sentence just there—. Spencer?

—Fix this —He says before hanging up.

Ryan groans and throws the phone to the other end of the sofa. How can he fix something he didn’t even know it was broken? He thought everything was fine! Jesus, he didn’t even thought about what Brendon would think, he didn’t know he cared. And, well, he didn’t expect the time to pass so fucking fast. A month? Really??

He takes his phone again, scrolling down his contact list to find Brendon’s number. He opens the messages conversation and press in the input box. Okay.

But now what?

What is he supposed to do? What does he have to say? Because if Spencer’s right and Brendon’s fucked up, what can Ryan do to help that, to change that? What if he says something and makes everything worst? What if… What if Brendon’s so pissed he doesn’t want to talk already? What if he doesn’t want to talk anymore?

Ryan bites the side of his nails, looking at the screen, touching it when the light fades to make it bright again. If only all the things were that easy to fix…

He goes to his computer, plugging his phone to it and sending one of his demos form his PC to his phone. He waits for it to load and then he listen to it, making sure it’s the right one. Music has always be the one who’s been there for him when nobody else was, so maybe music can also help him to fix this mess.

He opens the chat box again, attaching the song to a message and sending it to Brendon. He adds something, just in case.

_Sorry I didn’t catch you earlier_

He doesn’t expect the answer to come as fast as it does.

_You working on music again?_

_That’s awesome_

That sounds like a pretty normal Brendon to him, but Brendon’s a wonderful liar, always has been, and if there’s a perfect place to put on a mask is via text.

_Did you hear the lyrics?_

Ryan types, pressing send. Those lyrics are the ones that have been coming to him since everything happened, since he and Brendon’s started to talk again, since they started to be friends again. Since they started to… be.

This time Brendon takes a lot more time to answer back. Ryan decides to go make some coffee, it’s a little too early and he needs to be wide-awake for this conversation. The phone buzzes when he has his steaming mug in his hand.

_You wrote a song about us again_

Ryan smiles when he sees the word ‘again’, bringing the mugs to his lips, letting the hot liquid to fill his body. He takes his time, breathing deep before letting the mug in the table and write back.

_It’s true_

_Everything_

Ryan feels a little weak for letting himself be exposed that way. But the situation probably requires it.

_That’s something funny to say when you’re miles away and you haven’t talk to me in a month._

Ryan wants to say a lot of things to that. First of all, he really didn’t know a whole month had passed. It’s not his fault Brendon decided to go all diva style and bought a fucking ranch in fucking Encino. He could have talk too, okay? The phone is not a one-way source of communication. And, the most important, he just sent his fucking feelings in an envelope, the least he could get is a little less sassiness and a little more gratitude.

He doesn’t say any of this, though. Because he wants thing to be normal again. Or, at least, as normal as they can get, being about Brendon and he.

_That doesn’t make it less true_

He writes, and wishes Brendon falls for that, because really, there are not a lot of things he can do from here. Unless Brendon actually wants him to drive to his house and fucking tell him in person. Sarah’s face would be amazing.

_So you love me_

Ryan almost spits his coffee.

Fuck, he didn’t expect that. Of course, he sent a fucking love song, but… He feels his cheeks on fire. He truly hopes Brendon doesn’t want him to answer that. In fact, it’s not a question, is it? There are no question marks, so…

_Ryan_

_Do you?_

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. He’s not ready for this. He’s so not ready, he didn’t sign for this. He just wanted Brendon to know everything was fine between them, he wanted him to know he still could count on Ryan, and fuck, yes, he wanted him to know that he still loved him, but he didn’t want him to ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

And now Brendon’s waiting for and answer and, what? What is he gonna do? Is he gonna be a chickenshit again? Is he gonna say ‘nah, dude, you know, fraternal’ like a scared teenager? Fuck it, that’s what got all to hell in the first place.

Well, not anymore.

_I said everything is true_

And with those words read, Brendon disconnects.

 

*

 

Seeing it in retrospect, he should have seen it coming. When half an hour later his door was knocked insistently, Ryan shouldn’t have thought about boy scouts selling cookies or Mormons trying to convince him to join the rightful path _again_. He should have thought about Brendon, but he was too busy thinking the world was grey and meaningless again, so he didn’t see it coming.

Not at all.

Not until Brendon’s hands were all over him, closing the door with a slam and pushing him against the nearest wall, kissing him like his mouth were the only source of air.

—I don’t fucking get you, man —Brendon says when they break for actual air—. You’re so fucking confusing, you’re…

They kiss again, and this time Ryan pushes his fingers through Brendon’s hair, holding him tight as he licks the insides of his mouth, as he sucks at his plump lips. And Brendon warned him about addiction? The taste of his fucking mouth, that’s his fucking addiction.

—I mean it, okay? —Brendon says again—. First we kiss and you say better forget it, but you shudder when I touch you. Then you fucking reject me and stop talking to me for a fucking month. And now this, the song… Gimme a sign, man. I need it.

—Is this not enough sign? —Ryan grunts against his lips, grabbing Brendon’s ass and pushing him against his body, letting him feel his filling cock.

—Thanks God —Brendon moans before attacking his mouth again.

They kiss for what seems like ages. Ryan wants to put his mouth in other places, he totally wants Brendon to put his in other places, but he just can’t stop kissing Brendon, he can’t break the kiss. And Brendon doesn’t look like he can either, but he reaches for Ryan’s shirt, unbuttoning and ripping it off him, lifting his own t-shirt just to press them together again, feeling the warm sensation of skin on skin, both of their hearts pounding frenetically.

Ryan’s hands are still gripping Brendon’s ass cheeks when he feels Brendon unbuckling his pants, pushing them down, past Ryan’s hands, until they are on the floor, until Ryan’s just touching skin. He starts to work on Ryan’s jeans, sliding his mouth up his jaw, dragging his lips on the stubble till he reach Ryan’s ear.

—Want to suck your cock. You own me —Brendon says, biting then, making Ryan moan as he feels his jeans falling on the floor.

—Bed —It’s the only thing that comes out of his mouth.

They fall on the mattress in a hot mess of limbs, kissing and licking and touching every bit of skin, their bodies grinding, their cocks rubbing so hard against each other it should actually hurt, but it feels so fucking good.

Brendon’s starting to lose his head, he’s getting in that state of mind where everything’s blurry and the only thing that matters is ryanryanryanryan. Brendon kisses wet and hot, and all over Ryan’s body, his redden lips closing behind his ear, his neck, his chest, sucking at his nipples, biting too hard and too good, leaving marks when he bites his way down Ryan’s chest.

—Fuck, I needed this. You have no fucking idea how much I needed this —Brendon mutters, burying his nose in Ryan’s clothed cock, mouthing at it over the fabric—. Why the fuck did you tell me to stop?

—You were high. You didn’t know what y-Jesus, Brendon! —He moans, fisting Brendon’s hair when he feels Brendon’s tongue flicking at the naked head of his cock.

—We fucked high before. I knew what I was doing —Brendon says, hooking his fingers on Ryan’s underwear, pulling them off.

—No, no, you don’t understand. I’ve had that so many times. Meaningless fucks while high, not remembering, not wanting to remember. I didn’t want that. No with you.

Brendon looks at him, a wide smile spreading on his face before turning into a pretentious grin, taking his cock in one hand, fisting it and licking his lips.

—I promise you’re going to remember this.

Brendon giving head is something that has always fascinated Ryan. The first time it happened Ryan thought something was going extremely wrong before feeling something was going extremely good. But he had his reasons.

All of Brendon’s hyper self, all his nervous movements, all his impatience words, all his needy touchingkissingbiting is gone when he’s giving head. Brendon stays calm, Brendon goes slow, like a criminal mastermind planning his next murder. Because one thing’s for sure, that mouth is killing.

Ryan can help to moan the moment Brendon goes down on him, the warming feeling making him melt at the touch. Brendon works his way down Ryan’s cock, his tongue flat against the shaft as Ryan feels the head passing forward Brendon’s throat. He bites his lips when he feels Brendon’s nose buried in his curls, his lips wrapping around his dick. Brendon hums and the vibrations send electric waves through Ryan’s body.

He runs his fingers in Brendon’s hair, grabbing it, helping Brendon set the right pace that won’t make him come right and there. Brendon slurps loudly at his cock and look at him, giving him a playful smile before spitting on it, making him wet and shiny, wrapping a hand around him and stroking. He kisses the tip, mouthing at it as he jerks Ryan off, taking him again in his mouth.

Brendon sucks him like he was made for this, just for Ryan’s cock to fit perfectly in his mouth, he licks around, he plays with it, he praise his cock like it was made of gold and teases him like it was his own toy. Brendon loves cock and he shows it so good Ryan’s starting to lose all control.

And that’s when things go rough.

Now that Ryan’s almost melting, Brendon grabs him hard, taking his cock in his mouth in one take, moaning around it when Ryan tugs hard at his hair, pressing his lips, licking and sucking and twisting his tongue, slobbering all over it, incapable of holding the spit coming down his mouth, falling, sliding down Ryan’s cock, making everything wet and messy and fucking amazing. Ryan can’t control his hips, can’t control his body.

—Want to fuck my mouth? —Brendon says, whipping his, _fuck_ , so red lips with the back of his hand—. Come on, do it.

He doesn’t have to say it twice. Ryan goes slowly at first, just fisting Brendon’s hair hard but not giving him what he wants, not yet. He slides in and out of his sweet mouth slow, giving him a taste of his own medicine. He doesn’t go faster until he’s got Brendon whining under his fingers, trying to increase the pace pushing down, making Ryan hold him tighter. Ryan goes fast then, faster, faster, impossibly fast, fucking his mouth until he hears, feels, Brendon moaning around him.

—Stop —he says, pulling Brendon up for a kiss, licking at his mouth and soothing the grip on his hair, massaging the scalp with his fingers—. Let me fuck you.

—God, yes —Brendon groans, getting out of Ryan’s body and leaning on his stomach, legs opening up, ass sticking out.

Ryan would love to take him just like this, grab his wrist and pin him on the mattress, push his cock inside and fuck him, just like that, but he knows he can’t do that. Not yet. Maybe the next time, maybe when Brendon’s already fucked open, already wet and slippery with Ryan’s come, ready to just slide right in again.

Brendon groans when Ryan grips his hips, keeping him still as he press his cock between Brendon’s cheeks, leaning in to kiss Brendon’s neck, biting his shoulder blades, licking his way down Brendon’s spine. He moans when Ryan deeps his tongue in the dimples above his ass.

—Your cock. Please Ryan —Brendon begs, moving his whole body against Ryan, looking for a little more, just a little more.

Ryan hums, nodding as he kisses one of Brendon’s ass cheeks, caressing his whole back with the palm of his hands, digging his nails hard when he gets to Brendon’s ribs, scratching his way down as Brendon moans impossibly low.

—Fuck, come one —Brendon pleads again, whining as Ryan pushes his legs further.

—Not yet —Ryan grunts, squeezing Brendon’s cheeks, pulling them apart just to push them together again.

—But I want you to fuck me —Brendon says, impatience showing in his shivering body. He can’t stop moving under Ryan.

—And I’m going to fuck you —Ryan mouths the words against Brendon’s skin.

—Yeah? —Brendon moans—. You gonna fuck me hard, baby? You gonna tear me apart? —He pants, moving his hips under Ryan’s hands.

—I will if you don’t shut the fuck up —Ryan grunts, biting hard one of Brendon’s cheeks, licking the mark soft.

—Fuck, yes! Then you can be sure I won’t shut up —Brendon laughs—. Want your cock, want it raw, want you to split me in two.

—Are you sure? —Ryan asks, getting up, holding Brendon’s hip in a grip with one hand, the other guiding his cock between Brendon’s ass cheeks, pressing the blunt head against his hole, pushing enough to make Brendon’s body press against the mattress, Ryan’s covering him—. You sure you want this inside you with no preparation?

He’s not a smug, but he knows how to work with that thing between his legs, and no preparation is NEVER an option. The funny think is Brendon, the fucker, actually takes time to answer the question, as if he were really thinking about it.

—Okay, okay… Tongue and fingers first.

—That’s a good boy.

Ryan doesn’t hesitate, he slaps Brendon’s ass before gripping his cheeks and spreading him wide. Brendon shivers when the warm breath touches his skin and, by the time he feels the hot wet pressure of Ryan’s tongue against him, he’s already melting. Ryan deeps his tongue in him, curling up inside as he licks him open, pressing the tips of his fingers in the tight ring of muscle, switching hands and tongue as he stats to push his fingers deeper.

—Fuck yeah, that’s it —Brendon moans, pushing back against Ryan’s mouth and hands—. Eat me out, baby.

Ryan groans, making hungry noises against his skin as he presses a third finger inside, watching how Brendon’s body swallows them needy. Ryan slides his free hand below, just to find Brendon’s cock impossibly hard and leaking.

—Tell me to fuck your ass —Ryan whispers at Brendon’s ear.

—Fuck my ass —Brendon pants.

Even after three fingers inside, it’s actually hard for Ryan’s cock to pass through the tight muscles, slicked only on Ryan and Brendon’s previous spit. Ryan pushes inside, feeling Brendon open up for him. Ryan’s body trembles when he bottoms out, Brendon sprawled under him, stuffed full on his cock.

—God, B, when was the last time you did this? —Ryan asks, trying no to move, feeling himself throbbing inside Brendon—. You’re strangling my cock. Gonna make me come without moving.

—It’s been a while… —Brendon says, laughing as he let his breath out, moaning when Ryan backs up and starts to thrust—. But… I think I can catch up —He says, pushing back, moving his hips—. Don’t you think?

Brendon pushes back again, meeting Ryan hips, crashing against his ass as he start to move, pushing deeper, harder, trying to set the perfect rhythm, the one that Ryan knows well, the one that makes Brendon going absolutely crazy.

He tries to steady Brendon’s hips, but Brendon’s impossible to control when he’s like this, moving desperately and pushing, pushing, pushing, fucking himself on Ryan’s cock, and Ryan know when he has found it, the little spot that makes everything go blurry and send shock waves along Brendon’s body. He knows because Brendon moans a looks back at him, right in the eyes, smiling wide with his mouth open, letting his head fall back as Ryan pounds him, thrusting hard, rubbing the same place over and over again till Brendon becomes just a mess of moans and sweat and sex.

That’s when he start babbling, mumbling no senses, dirty, sinful words that go straight to Ryan’s cock. But Ryan doesn’t want to come yet, not until Brendon’s done. So he leans in, biting Brendon’s neck as he slid two of his fingers past Brendon’s lips just to shut him up. Brendon sucks at them as if they were Ryan’s cock, and maybe that wasn’t the best idea if Ryan didn’t want to come.

He pushes harder, knowing Brendon’s almost there, reaching down to grab his cock, to jerk him off while he fucks his orgasm out of him. Brendon shivers, all his muscles contracting, squeezing Ryan’s cock inside him as he comes, spilling all over Ryan’s bed.

Ryan waits for Brendon to stop convulsing, fucking him slowly until the last drop comes out of him, griping his cheek and spreading him wide. Ryan slide out carefully, jerking him off as fast as he can while holding Brendon’s cheeks open for him, coming all over his used hole, his seed dripping off Brendon’s skin as he pushes in again, just a little, just to finish coming inside him.

Brendon shudders, falling down on the bed as a dead body, and Ryan follows him, collapsing onto his body, rolling over to curls besides Brendon. They kiss lazily as their eyes close. They’re tangled together when the sleep comes.

 

*

 

When Ryan hears Brendon waking up, he’s in the kitchen, making some tea, because making some tea is way easier that thinking about how he’s probably just ruined his life. Because of Brendon Urie. Again.

Ryan can hear him rolling over the bed, probably looking for Ryan. Brendon’s voice is a little bit uneasy when he speaks.

—Ryan? —He calls from the bedroom. Ryan can’t help but smile. It’s good to know he’s not the only one freaking out here.

—Kitchen —He says loud enough for Brendon to hear him.

He thinks he hears Brendon sighting in relief, but he’s not really sure. There’s silence for a moment, a moment the teapot decides to start whistling. Ryan takes it out of the fire, waiting a moment for it to cool down a little.

—You didn’t even have time to shave in this whole month? —Brendon asks, and Ryan can hear him stretching out on the bed—. You gave me rug burns all over my ass, dude.

—The rug burn is the least of your problems… —Ryan snorts, pouring the tea in the porcelain cups, thinking about the nail scratches all over Brendon’s back. What the fuck was he thinking about? Oh, yeah, not thinking—. And I didn’t know a whole month had passed, okay? It seemed like a week.

—Hmm… —Brendon gets up and out of the bedroom, walking towards Ryan naked. Brendon Urie and his lack of self-consciousness—. I have to admit I though about that possibility once you told me you were making music again. You always lose the track of time.

—It’s not the only thing I lose… —Ryan mumbles, placing the cups on the counter—. Iced or hot? And, for God’s sake, put on some pants.

—Iced —Brendon answer—. And, what if I don’t?

—Then I’ll fuck you again —Ryan says, not even a little inflection in his voice, taking two glasses and putting some ice on them, then pouring the tea from the cups there.

—Hmmm… —Brendon press his lips as if he were thinking, taking one of the glasses and heading to the sofa—. Well, some things are worth take the risk, Ross —He says as he sits, putting his feet up on the table, sipping at his drink.

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else, picking his own drink and sitting beside Brendon. It’ funny how it’s not weird to have Brendon naked sitting at his side, it’s like something almost natural, like it was years ago. Of course, it’s not like Ryan’s fully dressed, but at least he’s got his jeans on.

—I wanted to, you know? —Ryan says casually, drinking his tea. Brendon looks at him raising an eyebrow—. To fuck you again. I wanted to, but fuck, I was so tired, dude. I don’t remember the last time I had sex like that.

—I’m awesome, I know —Brendon shrugs, laughing then—. Nah, I feel you. We’re getting old, Ross. I was about to tell you to go to the shower, pin you down, fuck you there, but I don’t think I’m actually capable to move.

—Well… —Ryan leaves his glass on the table, licking his lips and turning his body to face Brendon—. Maybe we can work on that —He says, looking at Brendon suggestively—. And, by the way, it’s true. You’re awesome. No one has sucked my cock like you, ever.

—Yeah! I fucking knew it! —Brendon claps his hands, making a wining gesture and grabbing Ryan’s face to kiss him.

They end up fucking in the shower, Brendon leaving bruises in Ryan’s hips as a payback for the slaughter in his back. Like Ryan fucking care about bruises.

Brendon doesn’t have anything to do today, not recording, not promotion, no shows, no photo shoots, so he lets cleat his intention of spending the day with Ryan who, in fact, has work to do.

—It’s the world turned upside down! —Brendon shouts. Ryan hits him with his towel.

Brendon sneaks around when Ryan starts to work in his little studio, looking at everything, searching, touching, playing every instrument in Ryan’s house. It should be something unbearable, really, but Ryan kind of finds it relaxing, like everything is coming back in its place. He wonders if it would be like that, if Brendon and him started to live together. He wonders if he would still like Brendon’s hyper self if he had to live with him 24/7 or if, in the end, it would be so insufferable Ryan would leave him and never come back (this time for sure). That though, about leaving home, makes him think about his mother, how that was the only thing she taught him: to leave when things started not being easy, to leave and let everybody behind, not looking back.

—You need a rest —Brendon says suddenly, massaging his neck from behind—. You’ve been working for three hours. Let’s eat something, ok?

Ryan smiles, nodding. He just lost the track of time again. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to live with Brendon after all. If only…

They call for pizza, eating as the watch the last episode of Game of Thrones even in Brendon has watched it already. They sip their cokes through straws like little kids, making bubbles blowing at them. They have that kind of stupid fun they used to have when they were teenagers.

They both make a mess eating, staining their fingers and mouth, getting pizza all over their faces. And Brendon’s like, the king of the pigs, so he just lick it off, sucking on his fingers, licking around his mouth, sucking off Ryan’s fingers, licking Ryan’s mouth. They end up making out in the sofa, groaning and biting and licking and laughing, impossible of getting hard again because there’s no way there’s any stamina left on their bodies. So just kisses, and that’s okay.

It’s getting dark, and Ryan wonders a lot of things, but the most important is:

—Hey, B —He calls, petting Brendon’s hair on his lap—. What are we going to do?

Brendon just shrugs, hiding his face in Ryan’s lap. It remembers him of that time in Brendon’s studio.

—You staying the night? —Ryan asks, even if he already knows the answer.

—I suppose I’ll have to go home —Brendon says, his voice muffled in Ryan’s shirt.

Ryan hums, stroking his hair with his fingers without paying much attention. He wants to ask if Brendon’s coming back, if they are coming back. But he can’t do that.

—What are you gonna do about the marks on your back —He asks, almost feeling guilty for not being more careful.

—I don’t know —Is the only thing Brendon says.

They stay in silence for what seems like hours, so much Ryan’s head is starting to digress, rambling around all of his thoughts and the possibility of his thoughts, or the idea of his thoughts and the unbearable lightness of being.

—Don’t you have a beer? —Brendon asks, looking at Ryan—. I think I’m gonna need it if I want to talk about this.

_Oh_ , Ryan thinks, _so we’re talking about this_. But the truth is he has ran out of alcohol and there’s no way he’s going to go find an open store to buy more.

—Sorry —He says, as he shakes his head no.

—Weed? —Brendon asks, hopeful eyes. Ryan smiles apologetically.

—I don’t use to have a lot of stuff at home, sorry.

—Shit —Brendon curses, biting at his bottom lip.

Ryan wants to call Brendon out about how much he’s been drinking and smoking lately, but probably that’s not his place at all. Ryan remembers when he was this kind of mess and he wouldn’t have tolerated a scolding from people like him. If someone could do something about that, maybe it could be Spencer. Maybe.

—I truly thought she was the one, you know? —Brendon starts to speak, but he’s not looking at Ryan—. I though she could be the one saving me from you, the one who would make me forget about everything, the one who could make of me a new man. And I thought it was working. I was so different, I felt so different… And I love her so much, Ryan, I promise you I do —He tightens his jaw, whispering—, but it’s never enough. It’s not enough. Nothing compares to you. I wanted to think it was but…

Brendon shuts up, and Ryan knows he should let him speak at his own rhythm, not pressure him to do anything, so Ryan just keeps petting his hair.

—I realized I had built a life in torn of a reality that wasn’t true. Because that new man she made of me, that new man who had it all, it wasn’t me. And she knows. Sarah knows, Zack knows, Dallon, Kenny, everybody. Everybody knows this but they keep pretending. They keep pretending that man is me and sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore.

Brendon takes a deep breath, and Ryan does the same, letting the air fill his lungs.

—Do you want to know who you are to me? —Ryan asks when he sees Brendon’s not going to keep talking. When Brendon nods, Ryan smiles a little—. You’re my boy —He says and Brendon laughs a little—. You’re the weird hyper kid that met me that evening at Spencer’s and got me so mad I could not stop staring at him. Because the fucker was so fucking stupid but so fucking good looking, dammit.

—I’m fucking good looking —Brendon agrees, smiling a bit.

—You’re the one I told all my secrets, even the ones I never told Spencer. You’re the first person I loved so much it was hard to breathe. Still are.

—Ryan…

—No —Ryan stops him, grabbing his face and making Brendon look at him—. That person’s still here, you hear me? I don’t fucking care how much you’ve changed, I don’t fucking care how much of a new man they’ve make out of you. It’s fine, everybody change, everybody grows up, but that kid… —Ryan shakes his head—. They can take that away. They can’t take that kid away from me, and surely they can’t take him away from you. That’s you, Brendon. And no one new you could become will change that.

Brendon looks at him startled. His eyes wide and shiny.

—Oh my God —Brendon moans, covering his face with his hands for a moment before looking back at Ryan—. You’re a fucking idiot.

Before Ryan knows, Brendon has grabbed him by his shirt, pushing him down and getting onto his body, kissing Ryan fiercely, almost with rage, biting his lips and licking the mark, as if he couldn’t decide if he wants it to hurt or not. Ryan tries to win back a little of control, but Brendon’s overwhelming, his hands grabbing him tight, his body covering Ryan’s. They’re breaths are hard and uneven, lungs burning for the lack of air, but Ryan’s not sure if he wants to stop this, if he should.

—Why the fuck did you left me? —Brendon asks, his voice hoarse and broken. This is it. It had to explode sooner or later—. Why the fuck did you do it? Fucking why, Ryan?

—I don’t know —He says because that’s the truth. He doesn’t know. It’s just the way he handles things. He leaves.

—I fucking needed you. Fuck! —He screams, kissing rough again, Ryan feeling Brendon’s tears wetting his face—. I needed you and you wanted to drown. You choose drowning over me.

No, no, that’s not true. Ryan wants to tell him, Ryan wants him to know that that’s not true. But the thing is, it is true, and Ryan can’t say anything at all.

—You just needed to say you loved me, and I would have drown with you —Brendon sobs, his wet lips moving soft against Ryan’s, his hands still gripping hard.

—I didn’t want that —Ryan says, and maybe he shouldn’t say it, but it’s the only truth that he has—. I didn’t want you to drown because I loved you. I wanted you to drown because you loved me, no matter if I did or not. I wanted you to sacrifice yourself. For love. For me.

Brendon lets out a broken scream, all of his rage fading away as the heat leaving his body. He hides his face in Ryan’s neck, letting his tears flow out of his eyes. Ryan wonders it him crying along would make things a little better.

—If I stay now… Don’t leave me again —Brendon begs, and Ryan hugs him closer, kissing the top of his head—. I need you now more than ever. Don’t leave me again.

Ryan wonders if he could do that. If he can really keep him forever, if love is enough.

He wonders if this time he has what it takes to pick him up the streets and take him home. Of if he’s just going to love him but leave him there.

Like another stray dog.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, Ryden is back for some reason, and I'm writing it for some fucking reason. English is not my first language so, if you see any mistakes, please tell me so I can fix them.


End file.
